Still Shot
by Disco Inferno1
Summary: Dave Batista and the newly hired but married ringside photographer can't deny their growing friendship, which eventually leads to a torrid affair while her husband is absent. Full summary inside. A SBG Award Winner. COMPLETE
1. Didn't See It Coming

_**Still Shot**_

**_Second Place Award Winner for Best Male Wrestler and Best OC in the SBG Fanfic Awards. Check out Queen of Kaos' or Vera Roberts' profiles for more details._**

**Summary: **Dave Batista takes notice of the newly hired ringside photographer, Orianne Thomas-Anderson, when Randy Orton decides to add the woman to his list of conquests. While Orianne is impervious to Orton's advances, she can't deny the growing friendship with Batista, which eventually leads to a torrid affair while her husband is absent.

**Rating: **M for mild swearing, mild violence, and, most importantly, sexual situations. These are intended for a mature audience. If you don't think you should be reading it, then skip on down (Now that's going to make you want to read it, right?).

**Disclaimer (1):** I do not in any way lay claim to any name or character in the WWE. This is not-for-profit fiction. The only profit received is pure entertainment. Original characters of the Thomas and Anderson families, Cara Whitfield, and Cedarius Cooper, along with other various peripheral characters, are copyright of Disco Inferno1, 2006.

**(2): **As a married woman, I am sensitive to such issues as affairs and want readers to know that I do not take marriage and affairs lightly. This is simply a plot I am exploring in writing. Also, I have my opinion regarding military occupation in foreign countries but this is not the place to voice that. The point of this is that I mean no disrespect to _anyone_ by this story. _**Personalities presented within are not necessarily those of the characters in real life nor are the views presented within necessarily those of the author.** _Poetic license has been taken with character personas and television canon.

**(3): **Even though the fic is based on "reality," I have not used wrestlers' real names or their families' names (which I have subsequently made up). I am highly uncomfortable doing so since it feels as if I am writing a fic, for instance, about Sean Bean instead of "Boromir."

**_A big thanks to WandaXmaximoff for reading this for me and offering her opinion. (You've been of tremendous help.) Hop on over to her page and read her latest works. She has borrowed Cheryl from my "Blessed, Not Unlucky" for her "The Fine Line Between Love and Hate" (a fic about Cena); so if you're a fan of Cheryl, you can check that out and be a fan of her OFC Sam too._**_**

* * *

Chapter I: Didn't See It Coming**_

Sloan believed in the American Dream _and _in protecting it. Six months here and a year there was nothing compared to the trade off of knowing that his future family would be safe and free. Turning down an optional extended assignment in Saudi Arabia was the hardest thing he had ever done but he wasn't willing to put his wife through the kind of treatment she would receive over there. He loved his wife. It was hell to leave her for any of his assignments but he believed that she understood that he was helping forge a path of freedom and stability that their children would grow up in.

She always saw him off with a deep kiss and long hug. He carried a wallet size photograph of the two of them on their wedding day. For him, she was a picture of beauty—her long black hair was down over a strapless gown, a brilliant white that accentuated her dark blue eyes. The joy that sparkled in the young woman's eyes was more than about their union—she had graduated with her bachelor's degree a month earlier with the hopes of starting her own business. She was the picture of America to him, of what he was fighting for, exactly why he kept the photograph. Then, the gray was only beginning to show at his temples and there were fewer wrinkles around his eyes.

Soon, however, he'd retire from the military, when the immediate threat of terrorism was over…of course, they had thought that for three years now but there was still hope that everything would fall into place in the near future and his 2.3 children, dog, and white picket fence would become a reality. They'd spend every Saturday in the park and have lunch on a red gingham print blanket while she took pictures of him and the kids playing with the dog, a floppy-eared basset hound. They'd be exhausted upon returning home and she'd tuck their children into bed, reading them a bedtime story. After laying out their clothes for church in the morning, she'd slide into their bed beside him where she'd fall asleep in his arms. It was the American Dream he had envisioned. So it came as a baffling shock when Captain Anderson learned his wife was having an affair with Dave Batista.

* * *

Orianne crouched against the padded wall, camera poised for the one millisecond opportunity when the teen on the free throw line released the basketball. As the interim photographer for the local newspaper, she covered every varsity athletic team during their home games, pulling double duty as the sports writer for the time being. As the teams moved to the other side of the court, she switched cameras to one more with the attached lens more suited for the distance, wondering how she ended up in Prescott's small, sweaty gym taking pictures of the guys' and girls' basketball games. She had been laid off by the local arena in Atlanta that hosted the minor league hockey team before the season got under way and she had a chance to even to work for them. With the previous NHL lock-out, the venue's budget had been obliterated and they couldn't afford to keep an additional photographer despite the sport's return last year. After that, she began doing freelance work for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution but chose to return to Prescott for a "vacation" instead of putting in her resume for their opening—she had to get out of the traffic, smog filled city. However, she was still waiting for the response on one other job opportunity. 

The game was a blow-away and Orianne decided to leave before the fourth quarter was over—she'd get the final stats from the manager tomorrow. However, it would require maneuvering around the cheerleading squad. She had also taken action shots of them but these girls always wanted to pose for more—they were absolute camera hogs. Checking the amount left on that roll of film, she took some more of the pepband and then edged behind the squad, who immediately caught her. Amongst the giggles and then the disappointed sighs, she could only take a few more and give the legitimate excuse that the roll was now empty.

She started to move away to a chorus of 'goodbyes' when an especially peppy cheerleader called after her, "Ori!"

Rolling her eyes, she turned around. No matter how much time she spent away from her hometown, no one would ever forget the nickname. She didn't want to be called by Patrick Swayze's character in _North and South _by anyone other than family, specifically for that reason. Her life had been hell when the miniseries came out and the nickname was solidified in the small, Alabaman town for the rest of her life. She had tried using her middle name in the several places she had lived but her first name was always plastered on her press ID, her driver's license, etc., which inevitably led to you know what. She loved her name and its Southern uniqueness but always heard Madeline crying to Orry, her knight in shining armor.

"Chandra, yeah?"

"I was gonna come by the paper tommorra an' ask ya this but since yer her're…can I inte'view ya for this women's hist'ry class I'm doin'?" she asked in a thick Alabaman accent that only another Alabaman, or maybe a Texan, could interpret.

_Poor child, _Orianne thought, knowing full well that she was not without faults, particularly her own speech pattern. She didn't sound like a mountain hick and hardly like Vivian Leigh's version of Scarlett O'Hara but her travels through the US had melted her accent into something of an enduring accent. People no longer asked the new Southern girl to say things.

"Do you want me to meet you in the library tomorrow after school?"

The perky, slender blonde thought about it a moment, a look on her face as if she was calculating times to permit the meeting. "'Kay! Gotta go!" she said, jerking her head towards the squad. "See ya!"

Back at home, Orianne carefully set aside her equipment before going to make herself a snack. She had barely opened the refrigerator door when her phone rang. "Hello," she answered, pulling her blinds up and waving at her parents' home from where she stood in the small guest house on their property.

"I saw you were home and I wanted to make sure you had eaten."

"I ate at the game, Mom. I told you I would."

"I know but it's so good to have all of my babies home," Marian, her mother, gushed. That was hardly true as her brother and sister weren't even in the state at the moment. "Can I bring you a piece of my freshly baked apple pie?" she enticed.

Orianne was torn between the desire for company and the need to get the photos from the evening's games processed. The paper would be expecting them in the morning before well-intentioned mothers streamed in to buy them at-cost. Neither she nor the paper made or lost money on the deal. It was like a giving-back to the community. If her mother came over, there was a really good chance the pictures wouldn't get processed.

"I'm not hungry. Will you save it for me? I promise I'll have dinner with you and Dad tomorrow, okay?" she asked, quietly pulling a few items out of the refrigerator.

"I'll make your favorite!"

"You've made me chicken and dumplings four times in three weeks, Mom. Surprise me?"

When her mother finally agreed, Orianne disappeared into her dark room after a quick PB & J sandwich.

The dark room was once her cave, a refuge from the chaotic world, a place where all was at peace. Recently, it had become lonelier than her empty living room. Thinking about the interview with Chandra helped combat the feeling. She debated on which portfolio to bring. The one she took to job interviews depended on the job. What she called her "resume" portfolio would do for tomorrow. It was a sampling from everywhere she had worked as a photographer—from college to the San Antonio Spurs to the '96, '00, and '04 Olympics. It would help her remember all of her previous work.

The next afternoon, Orianne flipped through the portfolio pages in a library conference room as she waited for the teenager. She tried to remember all the womanly words of wisdom she had prepared for the girl. She was proud of her travels, of how much of that she accomplished alone, and her work in the world of photography. The career was not overly masculine but _her_ positions were. She was a sports photographer and professional sports were dominated by male leagues. She studied every sport she photographed to the point where, if she had the ability, she could play them. Men were generally the only ones who knew this much about athletics.

She was always on the field taking the pictures of football or basketball players in motion and dodging the athletes. The beauty of hockey, her last hopeful position, was the protective barrier. This would be the first time she had been employed by a professional hockey team. Her most and least favorite sport to photograph was wrestling. She fell into the Southern stereotype of watching wrestling, racing, and monster trucking, all of which she had professionally photographed. Wrestling was enjoyable to watch but, once behind the camera lens, the view was limited and it was easier to take a hit than behind the sidelines.

Orianne checked her watch for the date and figured up how long it had been since she had sent in her resume and portfolio to WWE and how much longer it would be before she got a call with a final answer. It would be any day now and she felt confident from the phone interview and because she had done her research. They employed four full time photographers on the road and two for photo shoots. She had applied for the road position as action shots were her specialty. Of the three currently employed, none of them had done as much extensive work in sports as she and she had assumed the same of the majority of applicants. Plus, she had proposed a new money-making strategy for them through the use of fan photos and the Internet. While wrestling wasn't her _favorite _to photograph, she still immensely enjoyed the job. Hopefully, they'd overlook the fact that she was a woman as they had only employed a few women photographers in their entire history. She wished they'd already called with a positive answer so she could include this in her "woman is power" talk to Chandra.

Thinking of the girl was like a summons. Dressed for cheerleading practice, she entered like a whirlwind, her backpack over one shoulder, a duffel bag over the other, and yearbook materials in her arms. "Jus' a minute," she said and dug through her things until she found blank paper and a pen. Orianne stifled a laugh as she remembered that she too had spent her high school years in a whirlwind of activity—mainly editing the yearbook and photographing as many athletic events as possible.

"A'right," Chandra began, "Wha's it like to be a military wife? Can ya go with Cap'n Anderson overseas?"

Orianne Thomas-Anderson had opened her mouth to reply with a quote from Elizabeth Cady Stanton when she realized the questions she had just been asked. Hiding a grimace and plastering on the I-support-my-military-husband smile, she related her travels and career through Sloan's posts and spoke of her pride in him, but she left out the sacrifices involved and the encroaching overwhelming feelings of loneliness.

* * *

Dave Batista stormed into the men's lockerroom, clearly unconcerned about his attitude affecting anyone else present. He violently threw his gymbag into the locker, making the wooden cubicles slightly shake. The other wrestlers were not necessarily afraid of him but they were wary enough to say nothing and to stay out of the way, especially since they had only seen him act this way in the ring. They all began filing out to the required Monday afternoon meeting—codeword for where 'the shit hits the fan'—for the wrestlers and the majority of the staff before prep for RAW began. 

Batista's circle of friends in the lockerroom mainly consisted of the former members of the now defunct Evolution and Carlito and Edge. His congenial nature invited most of the wrestlers and staff that he was on a first name basis with to consider him a friend. However, he seemed to be closest to Ric Flair and Randy Orton; Flair probably because of their mentoring relationship and Orton possibly because they were such opposites. Randy was the only one present willing to speak to him. "You coming to the meeting, right? We got about two minutes to get there."

"Just because I'm late doesn't mean I'm not coming. I got bigger things to worry about than Vince bitching at us about the dress code. If he says anything, tell him I'm coming," Dave growled back and took out his cellphone. Randy wasn't sure he wanted to leave him in such a state and he hesitated as he watched the larger man start to dial the phone and then stop the call before it went through. He hung his head for a moment and repeated the same actions, still stopping the call before it connected.

"Dave, man, what's going on?" Randy asked, still debating on hurrying to the meeting or taking whatever crap McMahon would dish out to stay with Batista.

"Later," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Let's go get this over with." He dropped his cellphone in his bag and strode out, leaving Randy to catch up with him.

Batista paid absolutely no attention to what was being said and he didn't care. As Heavyweight Champion, there would be little repercussion if he violated some new or re-enforced rule. As to his place that night on RAW, the director would go over it again with him. Right now, he was wracking his brain for a solution to his problems.

Dave had sat in the back corner with his arms folded defensively across his chest and deep in thought. He had no idea it was over and everyone was filing out until Orton nudged him. "Steam's coming out your ears. What's up?" Randy asked as they rose to leave the room.

Batista waited until they were the last wrestlers in the hall and angrily stated, "I am done with women." Orton, the consummate ladies' man, could only stare at his statement. "Gabrielle pushed me over the line this time."

"What'd she do this time that was so bad?"

"Everything I own is in the frontyard and the county's under a severe thunderstorm warning. Knowing it was gonna rain, she had her new fiancé put all of my stuff on the sidewalk!"

"Fiancé?" Randy exclaimed.

"Oh, that's my next point," he replied, as if things sarcastically were about to get better. "You know how she's been pushing me to get married?" Randy nodded and Dave continued. "Three weeks ago, I found a ton of bride magazines under the bed and mentioned it. Gabrielle took this as a sign and actually proposed!"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it was so embarrassing. First off, that's my job. Second off," he angrily held up two fingers, "I'm not ready for that kind of commitment and I've told her that time and time again. When she never asked me to move out, I thought we were okay. After she proposed, she started acting funny, staying out with her friends more."

"You didn't ask questions?"

"No, stupid me," Dave muttered more to himself. "I was kinda glad that she was leaving me alone. She dropped me off at the airport and told me to move out. I knew she should have moved in with _me_," once again, this more to himself than to anyone, "I promised her I would do it as soon as I got back."

"Who are you gonna move in with?" Randy asked, willing to offer Dave a place to stay if they didn't live so far away. The man was a chick magnet and now that he was back on the market, Orton would have loved for him to be hanging out in his apartment.

"I don't know. Mom and Dad for a few days—don't say it, I know I'm too old to be living with my parents but it's only gonna be a few days."

"So where does this _fiancé _come in?" Randy asked, reining in his selfishness.

Batista folded his arms across his chest, shook his head, and laughed before explaining. "She called me as I was leaving the hotel, told me she found someone who _would _marry her, and since I'm so bad about keeping my promises—let's not go _there_—she'd have her fiancé take care of that."

"And he dumped your stuff in the yard?" Orton asked, unbelievingly.

"Yeah, she told him to!" Dave replied, tightening his arms across his chest and resisting the urge to hit something.

"And you didn't see this coming?"

"I should have. For the past six months, we've been a walking Nickelback song." Randy stared at him in confusion. "Which one of their songs aren't about relationship problems?" The smaller man stopped and looked up in thought, as if counting the songs. "Stop it," Dave said, "You're missing my point."

"Then maybe this is for the best."

"Yeah, but not for my crap in the yard."

"I've got a cousin who might be willing to pick it up—Neil, you remember Neil?" Randy asked and Dave nodded with a groan. "Well, you got anybody better?"

"How much do you think he'll want?"

"Moving truck, storage, labor…" Orton trailed off, counting up amounts on his fingers but stopped when Dave made a disgusted face. "It's either pay him or replace everything."

"I know, I know, call'im for me, will you?"

* * *

Orianne shoved the tupperware container of left-over fried catfish into the refrigerator and dropped her mail on the countertop, Sloan's letter on top. There was never anything in them beyond a few endearments that wouldn't warrant any embarrassment by letting her parents read it. They had taken him into the family as if one of their own despite his being fifteen years older than their daughter. Her mother was a sucker for a stray and Sloan was an orphan from age six. The woman had made it her mission in life the past nine years to be the mother he never really had. 

Her mother had forced supper on her when she had arrived home from working the day at the newspaper office to get in the special articles for the weekend sports section. They passed Sloan's letter around the table as they feasted on her father's fresh catch from earlier that day. Her husband had little to say, other than that he was safe and was thinking about them. He also inquired as to how Orianne was doing in this transition phase and if she had decided on what she wanted to do since their house on the base would only be available for another few months if she didn't give them a decision soon.

"Screw the damn house," she muttered as she picked her camera equipment up off of the countertop and carried it towards the dark room. That one part of the letter had started one of _those_ fights with her mother, the kind where she nicely insinuates what she thinks instead of just arguing like normal parents do.

"Well, you can't just abandon yours and _Sloan_'s home," Marian had said.

"We barely lived there two years," Orianne protested, twisting her dinner napkin in her lap.

"But all the memories…" her mother wistfully replied.

No, there were none. Out of two years in Atlanta, her husband had been home for six months. "I thought maybe I could get a job that wouldn't matter whether or not Sloan was home."

"But don't you work with all the other officers' wives welcoming new families and organizing all those charity functions or whatever it is you do? I know it's prestigious work."

It was awful work. Sloan was a career officer, even though Orianne refused to believe it—he would retire soon and they'd settle down and everything would be alright, she continually told herself. Because of his career 'choice', she was expected to be the consummate officer's wife and work devotedly to their committee work. She didn't fit in at all. It was either that she was too young, she wanted a career of her own, or she didn't have children. The other women were happy being housewives and mothers. Nothing was wrong with that; it just wasn't for her.

"I've put in some applications that would allow me travel a lot," Orianne excitedly replied, hoping her zeal would be contagious.

"And what's that, Ori?" her father asked, finally getting into the conversation to change the course of the argument.

Before she could reply, Marian interrupted, "Sooo…that means if you do leave Atlanta permanently, you're not coming to stay with me. I mean, you're not going to live in the guest house?"

"I might. It depends on where the home operations are and what the job requirements are."

"Oh," she meekly replied.

"Oh," Orianne mocked, wrinkling her nose, on the way to the guest house. She loved her mother but she couldn't move back home 24-7. Tupperware and mail in hand, she stopped to watch one of life's most beautiful and graceful pictures. Deacon Malone, her brother's right hand man on the family horse ranch, was leading a black stallion around the training circle. Orianne assumed the gorgeous horse was still not allowed out after an injury had kept him cooped up. She first watched the grace of the animal before her eyes slid over to Deacon. When her father first hired him on their ranch twenty years ago, Malone was the hottest thing she had ever laid eyes on. All of her friends would giggle endlessly in his presence. She herself had had the worst crush on him. It wasn't until after the accident and his teaching her how to ride again that the crush turned to platonic admiration. Even now, he was a looker, as her mother would put it, and Orianne was one with a taste for older men. Sloan had been deployed barely six weeks ago and she was thinking of the even lonelier nights ahead. With one last glance at Deacon, who in his 'old age'—as he called it—allowed himself to be called the stereotypical name 'Deke', she had trudged on into the guest house.

Now in the dark room, she was trying to not grow maudlin over Sloan's absence and the empty home left behind. No matter how lonely she got, how much she wanted a man in her bed every night, she would never cheat on Sloan because that's the way marriage was supposed to be. She had to have something to occupy her time and the local paper was not going to do it. If only WWE would offer her the job, she thought, and then realized that she hadn't checked her messages to see if they had called. Not having started the film to developing, Orianne rushed out of the dark room to check the answering machine. The little red light was blinking and she held her breath as she pressed the play button.

"Mrs. Thomas-Anderson, this is Jennifer McNay with World Wrestling Entertainment. We have reviewed all of your application materials and, after last week's phone interview, we would like to interview you in person. WWE will be glad to pay for all of your travel expenses. Please give me a call back as soon as possible at…"

Orianne hurriedly grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled down the number. She glanced at her watch but knew it was too late to return Jennifer's call. The photographer started to rush out and tell her parents but then remembered their fight. She picked up the phone to call someone but there wasn't anyone to call besides her brother and sister. She hadn't made any close friends since their last move to Atlanta. That was Orianne, a ton of acquaintances, a few dinner companions, but no one but her family to call to share her joys and sorrows. "This sucks," she yelled at no one and slammed the phone down. "Well, sort of," she amended, tucking the piece of paper with Ms. McNay's number on it in her file of things to do for tomorrow.

Maybe she would call her brother, even if he was probably perched on some aluminum stadium bench watching his competition in the bull-riding event somewhere in Texas. He was with their sister and they were making the summer rodeo circuit rounds while she was on her college break. Orrin, her twin brother, would never be drawn away from the rodeo, even after he had to take over their ranch. Carter, their father, had been injured in a bull-riding competition gone wrong, forcing him to retire from the rodeo scene. Eventually, the beginnings of arthritis made the old injuries too painful for him to carry out the physical aspects of running the ranch. Orrin took over several years earlier than he had wanted but Deacon, knowing what he had been like at Orrin's age, agreed to do double duty for Orrin and Olivia to occasionally travel out of state for rodeo engagements.

In one of those weird moments that only twins have, Orianne began to dial her brother's cellphone as her callerID popped up a call from him. "How ya doing, Ori?"

"Well, if I can get past my _fight_ with mom," she began.

"One of those, huh?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "but guess what? You know that I applied for that position with WWE?"

"Yeah?"

"I got the second interview!" she squealed.

"Hey, Liv…_Olivia_!" Orianne heard Orrin call for their sister. Olivia was eight years younger than her siblings and studying veterinary science. She would join Orrin and her father in administration of their ranch, particularly wanting to expand the ranch enough to need a 'horse doctor,' as she lovingly put it.

For a few moments, there was silence, in which Orianne figured her brother was getting Olivia's attention. "Guess who Ori's going to be drooling over next?"

There was a startled gasp and then a scream, "Randy Orton?"

"Bingo," her brother replied, which was accompanied by a squeal.

"Let me talk to her! Now, now, now!" Orianne laughed as she held the phone away from the screech, hoping her siblings realized it was only a second interview, and wondering what had made Orrin call her.

TBC…


	2. The No Name Photographer

_Chapter II: The No-Name Photographer_

Orianne was impressed with the smoky blue Lincoln Continental that picked her up at the airport and took her to the WWE headquarters. She had hoped to go to her hotel first to freshen up but the young chauffeur assured her she looked fine as she frantically started brushing her hair and flipping it around while looking in the visor mirror. "You're just saying that to be nice," she replied in a tone that was somewhere between gratitude and frustration.

"Don't take this wrong but you look like everybody I've seen come in and out of that building," he said, glancing over her black pants suit and blue blouse. "You'll fit right in."

"I hope so," she replied as he put the car in park. Orianne was a southern gal, raised on southern chivalry, but that didn't mean she abided by the rules. As she started to get out of the Continental, the uniformed man who looked like he could have done well in the cruiserweight division motioned for her to stay there and hurried around to open her door. "Earning your tip, huh?" she asked with a facetious grin.

"I appreciate the thought but I can't accept any gratuities. They do me right here," he said, walking for the trunk to take out her portfolio. She had chosen to bring it, just in case. "And that's not an advertisement for our company." He quickly shifted her luggage in the trunk to make room for his next guest, Dave Batista. Any second now, the wrestler would be walking out the door since he was late arriving as Ms. Thomas-Anderson's flight was delayed. He would once again be returning to the airport with Batista before coming back to pick up the prospective employee. This was basically his job—back and forth between headquarters, the airport, and the Marriott.

"Thank you," she genuinely replied as he handed her the portfolio and she wondered how _genuine _his spiel was. He was probably an indy wrestler thinking he could get his foot in the company in the only position they would hire him in at the moment. She had researched the company; in other words, she had hit the gossip websites and had a pretty good idea of the morale of the staff. It wasn't pretty and she knew it but most of it pertained to the wrestlers. Her job was a lot less complicated and a lot less publicized. Plus, it wasn't like she was going to establish a life career here. She liked flitting around between jobs and locales but this was the best job she could get at the moment.

The headquarters were amazing and Orianne was positive that many of the wrestlers would protest their low salaries if they could, based on the principle of the money poured into the interior decorating. Her salary had been discussed already and it was within the range she was willing to take, even if it was on the lower end of that range. The foyer was large and daunting and Orianne began to feel small. After the receptionist directed her to the particular floor she needed, the interviewee swallowed hard and marched into the elevator, hoping Vince McMahon wouldn't be in on the interview process. She then chastised herself for thinking her job was important enough to need the chairman, especially one with McMahon's attitude.

* * *

"Did you hire a woman for the photographer position?" Vince McMahon asked, standing in the office of the head of human resources. 

"Yes," Jennifer replied, taking off her reading glasses and dropping them to her desk, "Her husband is currently stationed in Iraq and, since WWE's so supportive of the military, I put her at the top of the list after the phone interview but I think you'll be happy with her work. She really probably is the most qualified. She's done—"

"Whatever. I trust you about her work," Vince stated and turned around to leave her office.

"Don't you want to at least know her name?"

The chairman stopped with a shrug. "I'll see it in the reports," he replied and stepped through the threshold.

"One thing, Vince," she called, one of the few people in the office with the balls—and long-standing company status to back it up—to call him by his first name. "When have you ever cared about affirmative action?"

McMahon chuckled and turned on his heel to go, his laugh beginning to grow and echo down the hallway. Jennifer, an employee with the company for fifteen years now, picked up her glasses and slipped them back on, wondering what exactly he was up to now—because he was.

* * *

Dave Batista shifted the pile of clothes on the bed in his old bedroom at his parents' home before flopping down on it, exhausted from the move, the flight back from Stamford, and now the finality of his break-up with Gabrielle Dean. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling for a time while he tried to get his bearings about himself. He had just left his extra key with Gabrielle and picked up his mail…and learned who her new fiancé was, a name she conveniently left out of any of their post break-up conversations. Kyle Edwards was the owner of the gym that Dave frequented when he was home and a man he assumed was a good friend. 

Gabrielle had said nothing while Kyle had taken the housekey from Dave and handed over his mail, giving him a warning to get the address changed with the post office _now. _"And you are no longer welcome at the gym," the man spat.

Batista clenched his mail into a tight wad to keep from killing the man. Kyle was maybe three inches shorter than he but built like a rock as well. It would have been interesting to see who would have come out on top of a fight between them. Dave could only guess at how long he and Gabrielle had been seeing each other behind his back but he had no doubt that it had been longer than he wanted to know. Without loosening his grip on the mail, Batista smiled a pleasant grin. "Well, then I guess you have to take my picture down from behind the counter and I think I'll spread the word around as to why. Kyle, come on, you know you're not as popular as I am. But I'm sure there'll be other backstabbers just like you around to keep you in business. Of course, your type always sticks together." Dave said the last with a glare in the direction of Gabrielle, who then sidled behind Edwards' back.

Even back in the basement apartment that he had moved into as a brooding teenager of his parents' home, his adrenaline was pumping. The finality of this break-up was fully hitting him. He had loved Gabrielle, loved her enough to devote the past five years of his life to her, loved her enough to assume that they would be together for the rest of their lives. He thought their arrangement had suited them just fine, especially since she had said the same when they moved in together. She had even referred to the two of them as Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell. They had an enduring, amazing relationship without having to be married. The difference between marriage and their situation was a piece of paper. So why screw up a good thing with a piece of paper? Somebody always ends up cheating with someone else and then a huge legal battle ensues and a whole hell of a lot of hurt—emotional and financial—follows. Too many of his friends in the WWE and at home had gone through that. People always changed…that was the second reason he was wary of getting married. Too much baggage came from a dissolved marriage…that was his third reason. He had been married before, right out of high school. They were stupid eighteen year olds who thought that love would buy groceries, pay the bills, and supply tuition for college. It didn't take but a year before she left him and the result was a wasted year of his life in the abyss of depression and a pain so deep he had transferred schools out west to get away from the memories. Only his family and friends from the past knew about his first and only wife. Dave had had the hope that all this would have never happened with him and Gabrielle. He just had to wait to make sure marriage was for them. So, if he had to wait that long, maybe he didn't love her, he rationalized. No, he knew that he loved her because this break-up physically hurt too much.

Marriage had been out of the question at the time but now women were just out. It would be a while before he allowed himself to become attached and the best way to do that was to stay away from dating. But that didn't mean the world had to stop. He rolled off the bed and glanced around the room to decide how best to organize the majority of his belongings until he got a place of his own again. When he had moved in with Gabrielle, he had put all of his furnishings into storage in his parents' basement. Now spread out on top of those things were what Gabrielle had thrown out onto the sidewalk and Orton's cousin had charged an arm and a leg to deliver here. Maybe he would just start with the freshly laundered clothes his mother had brought down, even at his insistence that she not bother with them. The starched shirts were spread out along the edge of the bed and he just barely missed crumpling them when he had lain down. He carefully made his choices for what he would pack for the houseshows and then hung the rest up.

* * *

Orianne placed her hands on her hips and perused her selection of t-shirts that had now become her uniform for her new job. Jennifer had discussed with her the expectations of the job, taken her around to see the photography facilities, and then began to negotiate the position's salary. "I take it I'm hired," Orianne had laughed. 

"Yes," Jennifer said with a grin and extended her hand across the desk. "Welcome to the WWE family."

"What do I do first?" the photographer excitedly exhaled.

"With the facilities we have here, the smartest thing for you to do is move to Stamford or you'll being spending more money than you want flying between the shows, Stamford, and Prescott. I don't know what kind of arrangements you have with the Air Force—"

"That'll be great. Everything I own is still packed up. I can be here in a week."

Jennifer laughed. "Aren't we eager?"

"Well, promise not to tell, but I'm staying with my parents and my mom is killing me," Orianne replied, rolling her eyes but smiling.

"Oh, the horror—still living at home," she dramatically responded, putting her hands to her breast. "Seriously, I have some time tomorrow and I can show you around. We have a standing agreement with some apartment complexes because of the number of our employees we send their way."

"If you can change my plane ticket home, I would love your help," Orianne said as a knock sounded at the door.

"Jake, come in," Jennifer called to the skinny boy standing in the door. He looked to be an intern by his age and his eagerness.

"I brought up what you asked for," he replied and stepped into the room holding a large shopping bag with the WWE logo on it.

"I almost forgot. Thank you," she said to him, taking the bag. "Our meeting at two is still on," she called after him and then turned to Orianne. "I forgot one thing. You have a uniform of sorts." She pulled out a standard black t-shirt with a large RAW logo across the front of it and shook it out in front of the photographer. Jennifer handed it to her and sat down on the front edge of her desk. "We like to use advertising wherever we can. All we ask is that you wear khaki or black pants with one of our shirts. Each time we have a new shirt come out that we want to promote, we'll send it your way. If there's ever a need to, ah, _retire _a t-shirt, we'll let you know as well." She took the article of clothing back from her and folded it up, placing it in the shopping bag before passing the bag off to Orianne. "I'll call Caitlin up to see you out and then I'll see you here tomorrow at, how about 9:00?" she asked, quickly going around behind her desk and checking her calendar on her CPU.

"That'll work. Thanks so much for the opportunity," Orianne said, rising from her seat as Jennifer did the same.

Now, Orianne was looking at the selection Jake had put together and wondering if she was the only female employee they were using as advertising. Strapless, baby-doll…if it could be found in the women's section of WWE ShopZone, along with a few regular, ol' t-shirts, it was on that bed. She shook her head and began packing them back in the shopping bag. They could possibly have a home as soon as tomorrow and be worn as early as next weekend.

* * *

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Marian Thomas asked her daughter again for what felt like the hundredth time. 

"Yes, mama, I have a job and it requires me to move to the headquarters," Orianne replied with the white lie. Within the week, she thought she was going to shoot her mother, going on and on about how she and Sloan could move back to Prescott. Sloan's few personal belongings _were _staying in the guesthouse but she was moving on for now. She could be lonely in Stamford as well as being lonely in Prescott, just minus her nosy mother in Connecticut.

Orianne shoved the last of her clothes in the back of the car and slammed the hatchback of the Metro. The door popped back open and she grabbed the clothes that began falling out. Her mother caught of few of them and they crammed them back in before Orianne tried slamming the hatchback again. The door latched but didn't completely shut. "Let's get your dad," Marian suggested as her daughter climbed onto the bumper and began pushing on the glass.

"I got it," she muttered as the door clicked in place. As she climbed down, she silently cursed the little car. _We have to do our part in the war on terrorism_, she mocked Sloan mentally. One day, he would come home and find an Escalade, Excursion, Expedition, or another one of those E-word SUVS in the yard. _Why a sardine can? _she whined to herself, tired of packing the Metro for every time they had moved. She didn't ask for a Hummer but she'd like something a little more mid-size, a little more protection on the road, and a little more hauling space.

The only good thing about the Metro was that there was little to unpack when she arrived at the apartment in Stamford. Jennifer, the head of human resources at WWE, had taken her around to six different apartment complexes, two of which had no affiliation with the company. After the newly hired photographer had chosen a studio apartment, a fully furnished one, Jennifer had ditched her afternoon meeting and took Orianne around town to find the essentials—Wal-Mart and McDonald's and then a few other places Orianne could possibly need.

Now Orianne wouldn't have minded if Jennifer was around as her left leg from the hip down began to ache more as she carried the most important items—her camera equipment—up the stairs to the studio. Her cameras were too valuable to carry more than she could handle to open the door and she was about to leave everything else in the car when a voice behind her called, "I know you, don't I? Last name's Anderson?"

Orianne whipped around from where she had been arranging her next bundle out of the hatchback. "I'm sorry," she genuinely replied, "I don't know _you._"

"I was your chauffeur last week...for your interview at WWE," he continued when she hadn't remembered him. "I take it they hired you?"

"Oh, yeah, the cruiserweight," she replied before she realized what she had said.

"What?"

"Um, I, well, honestly…" At this point, honesty was the best policy because she couldn't come up with anything else to cover her blabbermouth. "I thought you looked like you could do well in WWE's cruiserweight division," Orianne replied, glancing him over and realizing how cute he was out of his uniform and hat. He was probably about seven or eight years younger than she and his baby face showed it. He was young and fresh, his sandy blonde hair in need of a trim for the cropped style. His clear skin and blue eyes said more about how he could become the next teen girl obsession if WWE was smart enough to sign him.

"Thanks," he confidently replied. Orianne thought she detected some arrogance in his reply. "I'm actually hoping to get a contract with them while I work the independent circuit. The indy circuit's where—"

"I know about the indy circuit," she interrupted, a little annoyed that he assumed too much of her but proud of herself for guessing right about him.

He shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Most people they hire don't know a thing about wrestling outside of what they see on TV." He extended his hand and said, "Shaun, Shaun Allen."

Orianne resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, you've got your name going for ya," she replied. "How many people are named Shawn in wrestling?"

"And anybody with your name in wrestling?" he asked, leaning up against her car.

"I don't know anybody with my name but it's Orianne," she offered.

"Yeah, me neither. And what exactly did they hire you in for—diva?" he joked and flashed her a pearly white smile.

"Ha, ha," she sarcastically replied. "I'm a photographer."

"Well, I had hoped for the other and I could charm you into a contract…" When her eyes narrowed at him, he immediately stopped. "I was just kidding."

She smiled at him and replied, "I know," even though she hadn't meant it.

"Here, let me help," Shaun said and reached for the box Orianne was holding.

He was a little too shady for her liking but her leg was killing her. "Okay," she replied and handed it over to gather up her clothes that were on the hook inside the car.

After a few more trips and some amiable, pointless chatting, the contents of the Metro were in the apartment. Shaun surveyed the studio where everything had been haphazardly dropped and commented, "Well, if you need any more help or want someone to put pictures up for you or anything like that, I'm directly across the hall."

"Thanks. I'll be sure to come get you when I can't get the lid off of my spaghetti jar," she replied with a facetious smile, although she truly meant the comment as sarcastic.

He caught on and weakly smiled. "I didn't mean anything earlier by assuming you don't know anything about wrestling and I definitely didn't mean anything when I said I'd put up pictures for you. I just wanted to help. It seems we keep crossing wires or something. Can I offer you something to drink? As a truce. Please? There's nothing in your fridge."

He had been in her refrigerator when she wasn't looking? "As a truce," she replied to get him out of her apartment.

She followed him over to his own studio and debated on how long she would stay. She was an expert at gulping tea and lemonade on a hot Alabama day. Shaun opened a fairly empty refrigerator that held left-over pizza, a few packs of ground beef, some condiments, and two six packs of beer. Orianne blanched as he pulled one out and tossed it to her. She hadn't drank alcohol in over seven years. This was going to set her back…but Sloan didn't have to know about it.

"Have a seat," he said and scooped some magazines up off the couch. She glanced around as she popped the top of the bottle. The apartment was the same set-up as hers from what she could tell—one big room that served as the living room and dining room with an alcove for the kitchen. The bedroom opened up off to the side and she assumed the bathroom was accessible through the bedroom, like hers. The space suddenly felt small as her lips hovered over the lip of the bottle. She reminded herself that she had chosen a studio apartment because she wouldn't be home that much anyway and there was no point in wasting the space. While her cream-colored walls were still bare—a problem she would soon remedy with pictures of her family and some of her own favorite photographs—Shaun's walls were covered with wrestling posters and pin-ups of half-naked women that would turn off any young woman he was looking to date. There were wrestling figures on the only shelving in the room along with what seemed to be every book on wrestling or by a wrestler. He apparently wanted this bad.

"Drink up," Shaun said, interrupting her thoughts and tipping back his bottle. She nodded and did the same…and, god, was it good. She took another swig and wiped her mouth. "I've got more if you want to order pizza and have dinner with me."

"I appreciate that but I need to get settled in," she deflected and began to chug more of the beer. She really should leave the rest of the bottle and not finish it but it was the most sinful act she had committed since god knew when and it was delicious.

"Then let me take you out tomorrow night for dinner? Even if you can't hire me, I can still charm you, can't I?"

"Um, Shaun," Orianne began, glancing away. "I, uh…" She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers to show off her wedding band. "I'm married."

"Oh," he said as the red began to creep through his cheeks. He ran his hand through his hair and nervously looked away. "Well, then…"

"I guess I'll get going. I'm sorry. Thanks for all your help. I really appreciate it," she said, rising from the couch and leaving the unfinished bottle on the coffee table.

"Um, yeah," he replied and rose to open the door for her. "So…if you're married, why ain't your husband here to help?" he asked accusingly.

"He's serving in Iraq," she answered and braced herself for his reply. It would either be one of syrupy sympathy or scathing anti-military response.

A blush spread across his cheeks again. "Um, well, glad I could help out the army in some way."

"Air Force," she corrected without chastising him. Shaun had lost all sense of his earlier suaveness and she felt bad for him. Orianne would never be found in Playboy nor on the pages of a magazine as a model, despite her ability to fill height qualifications. She could pass for her high school's junior miss pageant at one time—she was runner-up after all that year. But she wasn't one to have to worry about men coming on to her in the broad daylight in an apartment complex. That usually happened in bars or nightclubs where men were desperate or drunk. In a sense, it made her feel very attractive and gave her confidence in her looks but, in another, it served to remind her that she was doomed to spend half her married life without the one man who had the right to come on to her. "Look, we're off to a really bad start on so many levels. How 'bout I come over tomorrow and borrow a cup of sugar and introduce myself?" she asked with a smile.

"I don't have any sug—oh, I get it…Well, since your husband's," he said 'husband' tentatively, "fighting in Iraq, you can count on me for anything you need. Support the military and all that."

"Yeah, thanks," Orianne replied, trying to hide her chagrin at his readiness to do anything just because Sloan was overseas. She was a normal person, just like everyone else. "Good night then," she said and headed across the hall to a mess of an apartment. Everything would eventually fall into its own place…or not. Only her camera equipment was kept in pristine condition and order.

* * *

As stupid as it sounded, Dave Batista was in bliss in the newly disorganized apartment. It didn't matter that none of the furniture matched and it didn't matter that his clothes were in a pile in the corner. Gabrielle was a neat-freak but he had simply done the same because he loved her. He wasn't a slob but there was something to being able to drop his shoes inside the door and pick them up later or to leave his clean clothes in the basket for a few days before folding them and putting them up. He was also a guy and the fact that the sofa was cream, the recliner was taupe, and the walls egg-shell was absolutely fine with him, despite the fact that he had no idea those were the actual names of the colors. When he was in a more permanent place, he might consider hiring an interior decorator to fix what he couldn't really care less about. 

"Where do you want this?" Randy Orton asked, holding up a box that contained a computer monitor and tower.

Dave surveyed the room and then shrugged. "Anywhere you want to put it. I'll get around to it later."

Randy, who was helping Dave move in during their few days off that week, set it down in the only available spot on the floor and then rubbed his hands across his jeans to smooth out the creases on his hands from the heavy box. "How much later?"

"Why?" Dave asked, sticking his head out of the kitchen where he had retreated to put up a box of borrowed dishes with gilded Asian patterns. His mother would kill him if they were broken in anyway.

"Well, I managed a date for us," Randy explained, grinning, but then Dave rolled his eyes. "You should have seen them. They could pass for sisters. Dark hair, dark eyes, lashes to kill for. _And_—this is the best part—they're models and they work at Hooters in between shoots."

"Randy," Dave exasperatedly said. "You should know better. I've told you I'm done with women for now."

"And what am I supposed to tell your date? She thinks you're _hot_. That's guaranteed sex, my man." Randy slapped the backside of his hand on Dave's chest but the black-haired man didn't move. "C'mon. Do it for me. Candy wouldn't come without her friend." Dave still didn't move. "At least eat with dinner with us and when I've got Candy hooked you can let her friend down easily and I've still got her bagged."

"You don't know even know _her _friend's name, do you?"

"You ain't gonna remember it either when you see Candy," Randy replied with a laugh and mimicked grabbing a woman's breasts.

"And when and where is dinner?" Dave asked with a sigh.

"Well," Randy slightly smiled and looked down at his feet before finally looking back up at Dave when the larger man cleared his throat, "I thought we could order out and hang out here."

"This is what you told them?" Batista asked, trying to control his anger.

"Yeah. We can't back out now," Orton pleaded with the best apologetic tone he could manage.

While Randy and Candy hung all over each other like wet shirts on Dave's second-hand couch, he and—he couldn't believe this—Amanda made small talk across the room from where he sat on the recliner and she on the matching but disconnected sectional of the couch. Amanda, who refused to be called Mandy because of her friend's name (_Thank god_, Dave thought with R_andy _and C_andy _slobbering all over each other), kept trying to inch the sectional towards him. He had to stifle his laughter when she almost fell off of the furniture when it didn't budge on one of her more concerted efforts.

Even though Amanda wasn't intelligent, she was astute enough to catch on to the grunt that was a swallowed laugh. When it became obvious that he wasn't interested in her, she became more interested in Randy _and_ Candy. It wouldn't be her first time or her last and she was positive it wouldn't be Randy's and, even if it was, he was in for a treat. When she situated herself on the couch, Dave simply stood up and walked out of the room. While it was rude, Amanda didn't care as now they could get down to business.

Dave Batista woke late that next morning, the result of too much beer to dull his senses in the hope that he could make it through dinner last night. He hadn't drank enough to induce a hang-over but enough to make him feel tired and sluggish. He glanced at the door that had been shut on Don Juan and the two women last night and had not been opened since. He had crashed hard last night, just too exhausted physically and emotionally. A shower seemed to provide the invigoration he needed and he dressed before venturing out into god knows what happened in his new living room.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to find several more beer bottles around, the take-out cartons still on the coffee table and a nude Randy Orton on his couch. "Damn," he muttered. "Now I've got to get that cleaned." The two women were nowhere in sight but at least the door was locked, even if the chain was not in place. At times, he hated Randy as much as he liked him. The wrestler dropped the crumpled t-shirt over the full moon shining from the couch before he started breakfast for himself and then wake sleeping beauty.

TBC…


	3. Talking Shop

Please see chapter I for disclaimers, warnings, etc.

_**Chapter III: Talking Shop**_

Orianne was nervous but not more than usual for a job to which she was looking forward. Her stomach was a little queasy and her legs a little shaky but she walked through the halls of the arena with her head up—except for the occasional glance down at the paper in her hand directing her to the room where she was to meet her new immediate boss. She had to ask a couple of arena employees for help but she finally arrived at room 118A. The dark-haired woman had checked her appearance several times but she glanced down at the black polo shirt that sported a red and silver WWE logo on the breast for any stray debris and then surreptitiously ran a hand over the zipper of her khakis. More than being run over by a linebacker or hit by a foul ball, her worst fear was that her fly would be open during an important interview or meeting.

The door was wide open and people were bustling in and out with equipment but Orianne managed to slip in between others' trips. A man she guessed to be in his early fifties sighted her from across the room and strode over. He was taller than she by about four inches and was slightly overweight. His hair was salt and pepper colored and it leant a fatherly air to his demeanor. "Orianne," he greeted her and held out his hand.

She almost asked how he could know it was her but the new girl with camera bags slung over her shoulder and the employee badge with her name on it permitting her to wander around backstage gave it all away. "Then you would be Mr. Quinn," she replied, even though it was more of a question, and took his outstretched hand.

"Terence Quinn but everybody calls me 'Quinn'," he replied and put a gentle hand on her back to propel her out the door. "You ready to get started?"

"Yes, sir."

"Great. You don't have to normally be here for another hour but I wanted to walk you through the night and get you situated with everything. Deal?" She nodded, hiked the camera bags higher on her shoulder and followed the man down the busy hallway.

* * *

Dave Batista shouldered his way down the corridor. This was an arena he had never been in and a very unhelpful, confused intern sent him in the wrong direction for the locker room. Now he wound his way through equipment and the technical staff in the middle of preparation for the house show starting in a few hours. He nodded at Quinn, the head photographer, a man who had produced pictures for several of the layouts for WWE's magazines of the Animal. He and Quinn had shared drinks a few times but they weren't close, even though they were on a first name basis—well, first name for Dave since Quinn didn't go by his given name. The new photographer in the black polo shirt with the crown of her long black hair held back by a red handkerchief was invisible to him as he passed on by.

The wrestler finally found the locker room and unassumingly slid in. Randy Orton noticed him before he dropped his bags into the open-faced locker. He pulled the earphones from his ears and dropped them and the I-pod into an open gymbag at his feet. Dave noticed a piece of notebook paper in Randy's hand with a dozen tick marks under one column and one under another column but, knowing Randy, he was counting the number of women in WWE he had slept with versus the number he hadn't.

"Dave, get this. You were right." Batista raised his eyebrows in question and waited for the brunette to continue. "Almost of all Nickelback's songs _are_ about the dude fighting with his woman."

The larger man squeezed his eyes shut to stop himself from rolling them and he refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose. "That's nice, Randy," he replied in a patronizing tone and patted him on the shoulder before sitting down beside him.

"I have to ask. You thought of that metaphor long before you just seemed to throw it out at me?"

"You know what a metaphor is?"

"I may not have gone to college like your uptight ass but, yes, I'm smarter than I look or act. Just don't tell anybody else. Then they'll expect me to be smart all the time." Randy ended with a grin.

"Okay, so maybe I was listening to their album on the way over that day and it seemed all their songs were about me and Gabrielle, okay?"

"I can't believe you admitted that," Randy said, shaking his head and looking embarrassed.

"Dumbass," Dave muttered under his breath and then decided to abruptly change the subject. "Have you called Candy?"

"No and you know I'm not going to. If she and Amanda are that willing to jump into bed—"

"That was my _couch_, thank you very much," Dave interrupted.

"Anyhow, she's not a one-man woman."

"Like you, huh?"

"What?"

"Nothing," Dave muttered but then clearly replied, "It's not like you're looking for a girlfriend anyhow."

"Exactly. See, that's the thing about you. You _get_ me."

"Thanks for the compliment," Dave sarcastically responded. "I'm glad that we've got this thing going on," he pointed back and forth at Randy and then at himself in an exchange of sorts, "because now I have to see her in the hallway every time I go home and I have to make excuses for you."

"I'm surprised she's asking about me."

"Caught me on the way out the door to the airport," Dave explained, pulling his Blackberry out his bag. "It's only been three days, so maybe she's not the kind of woman you think she is."

"Fine. I'll call her and make sure she understands it was a one time thing," Orton replied with a shrug.

"Thanks. Maybe you can ask her not to give me the evil eye in the hall after you break it off."

* * *

Orianne's heart skipped a beat when she saw Dave Batista approaching. She was not a newcomer to wrestling. If she was home when it was on, then she watched it. However, how could an ordinary red-blooded woman mere feet away from _that _man not take immediate physiological notice…or that was how she tried to justify it. The photographer tried not to crane her head to watch once he was past but her gaze naturally followed.

Quinn stopped when he noticed she was a couple of steps behind him. "Don't get any ideas. Staff shouldn't be _consorting _with the wrestlers." By 'consorting,' he meant 'fooling around with.'

"Oh, no, no, no," she replied, holding up her hands. "I'm married. See?" She then held up her left hand to show him her ring.

"That's right. Your husband's in the army."

"Air Force," she corrected.

"Does he fly any of those really cool stealth bombers?"

"No," she replied with a smile. She had to admit—stealth bombers were quite possibly the creepiest but most fascinating aircraft she had ever seen. "He's a software engineer. Until he was called up, he developed software for the Air Force and traveled to the top bases to install it and then do the training. Right now, he's over-seeing new software implementation." She left off that it was regarding tracking insurgent militia, classified material that she wasn't sure _she _was supposed to know about. "He _did_ fly during Desert Storm. He was proudly part of the raids that ended the war."

"You're not old enough to be married to a guy that flew in Desert Storm."

Orianne blushed in response. "He's fifteen years my senior."

"I'll be sure to refrain from criticizing cradle robbers," Quinn replied with genuine smile. "You got a sister?"

She laughed in response. "A much younger sister whose dreams are too big to be stopped by any man." _I'd hook her up with Batista before I'd hook her up with you_, Orianne thought, even if she did like Quinn so far.

"Then I do have to say that you shouldn't ogle the wrestlers that way."

"I didn't mean to. It's like having…Hulk Hogan walk by," she explained. She hated Hogan but he was the favorite of most fans and the example would explain her faux pas.

"They prefer to be treated just like everyone else in the business. Fans are different but we're staff."

Orianne nodded as if she was taking his advice to heart. She had rubbed shoulders with Michael Vick and Barry Bonds. While they wouldn't remember her as a photographer for the Falcons or the Giants, she knew how to treat 'superstars.'

"So, what does your husband think about you working so closely with all these male wrestlers while he's in Iraq?"

"He's absolutely fine with it. Our marriage vows mean nothing otherwise," she replied, hiding her personal ire about already talking about her husband and the military only thirty minutes into her new job. Her tone must have said it all because Quinn didn't have a response.

* * *

Orianne plopped down on the black mat and leaned up against the barricade to rest between matches. The lights were much hotter than she expected and she wiped her face across her sleeve. A blonde woman who had been carefully routing wires and keeping the wrestlers and divas supplied with microphones slid over beside Orianne. She was several inches shorter than Orianne but she had a killer body to go with her youth, along with bright green cat-eyes. "Hi," the woman said with a smile. "How's your first night going?"

"Tiring but I love it. I just think it's all the excitement but I'll eventually get used to it."

The woman, whom Orianne guessed to be about her age, nodded and then held out her hand. "Cara Whitfield," she said and the dark-haired woman replied with her own name and a handshake. "It's nice to have another woman down here with me."

"What about Lillian?" Orianne asked, glancing over her shoulder at the petite blond perched on edge of her folding chair.

"Nothing against her but she's not all that interested in talking shop or really talking at all. She's usually going over her cards before each match."

"Oh," the newcomer replied. "So, talking shop, huh?" Orianne was curious to know what the other woman meant by that. Was she a photographer as well, just outside of WWE?

"I can sit down here all alone and look—just a minute," Cara suddenly stopped and reached around her back to a battery pack attached to her belt. "Yeah…yeah…fantastic," she muttered into a tiny microphone on a wire that ran down from an earpiece and around to the square pack. "Gotta go. They're not getting any sound out of one of the mikes under the ring."

"You mike the ring during house shows?"

"They're new ones and we're giving them a run through tonight and tomorrow before we use them live on Monday."

"Oh," Orianne replied. "Hope you fix it," she added and then blanched at her response. Cara slithered away and then under the black curtain surrounding the ring.

When the technician disappeared, one of the other photographers dropped down beside her. "Until Cara gets that mike fixed, we don't move on. Can you imagine Viscera pounding on the mat with her under there?" Cedarius asked.

Cedarius Cooper looked very much like a young Damon Wayans and Orianne somehow expected to hear him start cracking jokes. That's not to mention that she had a weird desire to rub his shiny bald head and she had only known him a few hours. "Not a pretty sight, I'm sure."

"I hear you're from Alabama. Me, too," the man offered.

"Yeah?" Orianne replied, her eyes lighting up. "I'm from Prescott. It's a little town about an hour west of Fort Payne."

"I know where Prescott's at. I'm _from _Fort Payne."

"What a small world!" she exclaimed.

"No kidding," he replied but then his eyes caught sight of Cara crawling out from under the ring. She winked at him, something that Orianne didn't miss.

"You and Cara an item?"

"I wished," he exhaled heavily.

"What's stopping you?"

"I'm black and she's white," he replied as if it was something Orianne couldn't quite grasp.

"As backwoods as Prescott, Alabama, is, we've never have a problem with interracial couples."

"Neither is Fort Payne but my family still sees in color."

"Oh," she replied for what felt like the hundredth time that night. She really wanted to interfere and tell him that she was sure his family would come around when they met her. It had taken some time for her parents to accept Sloan because of the age difference but, once they saw how in love she was with him, there was no going back and her mother had practically adopted him. Thinking about back to when Sloan had first met her parents, the isolation that threatened to overwhelm her at times crept up on her.

When Kane's pyrotechnics went off, Cedarius leaned over and yelled at her to be heard through the music, "Back to work." He held out his hand and pulled her up from the floor.

* * *

"Let's talk shop," Cara Whitfield announced as she leaned up against barricade beside Orianne.

The photographer had survived two houseshows and was halfway through her first RAW. Batista had just won a match against Kane by disqualification—thanks to the efforts of Triple H—a match Orianne had barely survived. Had Quinn not jerked her away from the ringposts, she might be minus her eyebrows. "I was just trying to get a good picture," she demurely replied with downcast eyes to his rebuke for her to pay better attention. She knew that the flames were going to shoot up from the posts but the moment was hard to pass up to catch on film.

Triple H had had already retired backstage and Batista was circling the barricade, shaking hands with those ringside. He passed them up without so much as a second glance. Orianne wasn't the least upset because he was so focused on his fans. Why shouldn't he notice her as she scooted out of his way? Now Cara was offering her earlier enigmatic statement.

"Shop?"

"I know you're married and all but just because you're on a diet doesn't mean you can't look at the menu." Her eyes quickly shot to Batista at the word 'menu.'

Orianne nervously laughed. "Um, I _guess_ not."

"Just look at him. I mean, he's just so perfect," Cara sighed.

The photographer's eyes followed the same path as the technician's. There was no doubt in that statement. That colossal body upfront revealed one even more perfect than she imagined on television. As he had passed her up in nothing but those wrestling briefs and his body slicked up with sweat and oil, she had to remind herself that she was indeed married as her lower stomach swirled. She wasn't dead and it seemed that neither was Cara.

When Orianne didn't reply, the blonde nudged her. "Um, yeah," she replied.

Cara studied her for a moment. "That's not what I meant by 'shop'," she said with a laugh and poked Orianne with her elbow. "I was just wondering if you were one of those who worked here so they could drool over the wrestlers or because they want to work here."

"Oh, you're bad, Cara, just bad," Orianne grinned.

"Have they given you that strapless boob top yet to wear? The whole 'promotional' shirt bullcrap?"

"God, yes," Orianne said with a roll of her eyes.

"We are the only two women who are out here during the whole show. So, guess who gets to model the choice apparel of the WWE?"

"So, the women backstage don't have to wear those strappy things?" the black haired woman asked with raised eyebrows.

"Nope. They get the t-shirts like the guys do. I guess because it costs too much to pass out the clothes with the smallest amount of clothing."

"Makes sense. It probably costs them next to nothing to make screen t-shirts but a silky strapless thing costs much more. Did you check out how much they're selling them for on ShopZone?"

"No kidding. I wish I could boot-leg'em," Cara replied and then glanced down at the card in her hand. "Well, Vince McMahon is about to come out and you won't believe this but he needs a microphone for a promo. God forbid he gets a faulty one," she angrily added and rose from edge of the barricade. "By the way, I'm always willing to discuss what I learned in my anatomy class in college." She nodded towards where Batista had disappeared up the entrance.

"You're bad, Cara, so bad," Orianne replied with a laugh. She herself felt a little 'bad' at the moment remembering how close she came to that sweaty body, those flexing muscles, that perfect skin… "Cara, wait!" The other woman stopped. "Do you ever get used to it?"

"Yeah, you do," she replied with a laugh but then a dark shadow passed through her eyes. She smiled as if to shake off the thought and then headed over to the alcove that held the bell and various technical equipment.

Despite Cara's words, the feelings weren't going away. Orianne herself shook her head to clear her thoughts and checked the number of negatives left on her current roll of film.

* * *

Ric Flair strolled down the hallway and nodded to the new photographer as he passed her on the way to Dave Batista's room. He knocked loudly on the door but there was no immediate response. "Good for him," Flair said to nobody in particular and started to turn around when the door opened.

"Ric," Dave said, even though it was more of a question. He had no idea why his mentor would be knocking on his door after RAW.

"Dave, buddy," Ric began, pushing his way past the younger man into the hotel room. "Put on a shirt, you're coming with me."

Batista, clad in only a pair of warm-up pants, looked at Flair questioningly. "And _where _am I going?"

"You've been holed up in your hotel room for three weeks. Time to come out."

"No, I'm not going _out_. Especially in this," he replied and picked at his pants.

"Where we're going, you'll fit in perfect. Let's go," Flair insisted and rifled through Dave's suitcase before throwing the first t-shirt he found at the larger wrestler.

Dave caught the shirt but stood his ground. "I'd just rather stay in, thank you."

"See, that's the problem. Let me ask you something," Ric said, crossing one arm across his chest and bringing his other hand up to his chin. "Do you go out when you're home?"

"Exactly who am I supposed to go out with? Gabrielle was my life."

"You had friends before Gabrielle, right?" Ric asked and Dave nodded. "Do you see them?" The younger wrestler didn't respond. "You had family before Gabrielle, right?" Dave blew out his breath and looked away. "Do you see them?"

"I had lunch with my mother last week," the dark-haired man angrily replied.

"You had lunch with mommy one time in three weeks," Flair whined to mock him.

Dave rolled his eyes and pulled the shirt on before grabbing a pair of socks and slipping on his running shoes. "Are you happy?" he sarcastically asked.

"Yes," Ric grinned and started for the door.

"Where are we going?"

"One floor down. All you need is your keycard," the peroxide blonde added as Dave picked up his wallet. At the confused look on his face, the shorter man added, "It's too much of a temptation. Not one of our rules."

"What exactly am I about to do?"

"Dave, I don't think I've ever told you to 'shut up' between just the two of us but 'shut up' and come on."

Batista had rolled his eyes so many times lately that they were sore; so he simply picked up his keycard and followed Flair out the door. The older man said nothing as he pressed the 'down' button for the elevator, walked into the car, and waited for Dave. He then pressed the button for the next floor down and tapped his foot in time with the music drifting softly out of the speakers. Once the doors opened, Ric turned left and Dave followed him until he reached a door that was propped open a foot and he pushed on in. Batista hesitated a moment but then he stepped inside.

Ric Flair seated himself at the medium-sized table with three other men squeezed around the table where a pile of multi-colored poker chips were stacked in the middle. "You pulled it off, Ric," Shawn Michaels stated, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips in astonishment.

"I didn't think you could do it," Rob Van Dam added, pushing his chair to make room for Batista. Mike Chioda, who was shuffling a deck of cards, also scooted his chair over and indicated the Heavyweight Champion should grab the chair by the bureau and bring it over.

"And how exactly am I supposed to play poker without a wallet?" Dave pointedly asked Flair as he settled at the table.

"Because we don't play for money," Ric laughed, enjoying the look of confusion on his face.

"We play for favors," Shawn added and blew a kiss at Dave.

Batista scrambled up and held his hands out, palms pointed away from his body. "I'm gonna have to pass," he said, beginning to walk backwards without turning his back to them. All four of them burst out laughing.

"Sit down," Flair ordered through the guffaws. "Not those kind of favors." Shawn whiped away a tear and held his stomach, trying to talk but finally giving up and surrendering to his laughter. "I don't think we've ever had that reaction before," Ric said with a snort.

Running a hand over his face to relieve the pain in his cheeks from laughing, Mike gestured for Dave to have a seat. "We won't bite unless you want us to. We're just some guys looking for some other way to spend our time instead of going out to clubs or bars."

"I don't even bother with the temptation," Shawn stated, waving his hand to show off his wedding ring.

"I'd been in a lot of trouble with my wife a few years back. Now, she can't even accuse me of anyone on the side," Flair explained.

"My fiancé's heard way too much about life on the road and, when I heard about these guys putting this poker group together, it was my way of promising her that I wouldn't, as Shawn puts it, put myself in a place to be tempted," Chioda added his story.

"And your story?" Dave asked, looking at Van Dam.

He simply shrugged. "The club scene—just not my thing."

This was nice and all for these guys but Dave would rather be in his room, either sleeping or watching senseless junk on TV…maybe have the occasional drink to complement late night programming.

"You'd rather be in your room, wouldn't you?" Flair asked.

"No offense to you guys but, yeah," he answered, matter-of-factly.

"Just try us; you'll like us," Shawn said.

"I've heard your stories as to why you're all here but why exactly should I be here?" Batista asked, accusingly.

"Because," Ric said, slowly, "You'd rather be in your room."

"You don't think everybody hasn't noticed what a sourpuss you've been since your girlfriend got engaged?" Rob asked. "Saddle up because you need to get a life."

"And _this _is a life?" Batista asked, a little too sardonically than he meant.

"It's better than being a recluse," Flair replied.

"Okay, how does this work?" Dave asked and relaxed into his chair.

"Just like poker," Van Dam explained as Shawn slid the divided chips out to each guy while Mike dealt the cards. "The first guy to lose all his chips owes any favor that the winner of the game wants…within reason."

Dave couldn't believe he was about to do this but he picked up the hand dealt to him. "So how long have you guys been doing this?"

"It's not so much how long _we've _been doing this but how long a group of guys has been doing this? Guys come and go as they need to," Shawn explained as he pushed in a chip for his first bet. They were quite the eclectic group that had come together over a common purpose after the show in a place they could socialize without the prying eyes of backstage politics.

TBC…


	4. Mrs Robinson, Roses, and Rain

_**Chapter IV: Mrs. Robinson, Roses, and Rain**_

Dave Batista was on the verge of being late to the required "shit" meeting because he got lost looking for the dry cleaning shop from which he had to pick up Ric Flair's suits as Flair's favor for Dave losing to him last night. He had survived the past two weekends…with the exception of Saturday. Flair dropped off the clothing yesterday but he had a meeting with McMahon prior to this one and couldn't pick them up. Hence, Dave was driving through town with an incorrect address and OnStar having no record of the little dry cleaning shop. He swept into the large conference room, the dry cleaning bags slung over his shoulder. The receipt fluttered to the ground but he didn't notice.

Orianne was seated on the floor against the wall for lack of seats. She didn't look up when Dave came in but the receipt caught her eye as it floated to within a yard of where she sat. The dark-haired woman rose up on her knees and started to reach for it to give it back to him but Chris Masters bent over to retrieve the paper. "Dave, dude, I think you dropped this," he called out. Orianne shrugged her shoulders at Quinn who was giving her a funny look for being stretched out on the floor.

This was her third RAW, giving her six houseshows and two live events under her belt. She was settling in fine in regards to getting along with her coworkers, particularly the other photographers—Quinn, Cedarius, and Dennis. Cara's friendly presence and Cedarius' jokes helped to calm her nerves and she was by far enjoying herself. The hardest part was getting into the rhythm of the layout of the shows. Even though she was provided with the schedule for each show, she was still learning how best to keep her cameras loaded with film so that she would only need to reload during the longer breaks.

The meeting pertained to Orianne and the other photographers in regards to only two of the matches involving wrestlers spending time on the outside of the ring and the nice reminders regarding travel protocol. She rose from her seat on the floor with the help of Cedarius and shoved her hands in her coat pocket as they filed out. She was cold natured but, tonight, she wouldn't be caught dead without her jacket until the dark matches started. She had decided that it was time to get around to wearing the strapless terry shirt and get it over with and Cara had agreed to do it with her. While hers was black and simply promoting WWE, Orianne's was red with "RAW" in large letters across the front. Cedarius had dared Cara to wear hers during a live event and she wasn't one to back down from a dare. So, if Orianne wanted someone else to be as undressed as she in front of a crowd (they hoped the crowd would notice only the wrestlers and not the two of them), she had to wear hers with Cara.

* * *

"New blood," Orton announced in the locker room as Dave stepped out of the shower.

"Not again," Batista groaned, wrapping the towel tighter around his waist as he sat down on the wooden bench. "What's her name?"

"I don't know."

"What does she do?" Dave asked, looking up from rifling in his bag.

"She's the new photographer."

"We got a new photographer?" Batista responded, slightly amazed that he didn't realize they were missing one to begin with.

"Dude, how did you miss her bare shoulders out there?"

"_Cara_ was wearing some strapless thing tonight but you did that poor woman dirty two weeks after she got here. Are you trippin'?"

"Cara was too clingy," Randy replied, rolling up his upper lip. "I had to let her go. No, this girl had on one too."

"No, you let Cara go because you have a bad habit of sleeping with every woman in the WWE," Dave corrected, reaching for the clothes in his locker.

"No, just the good-looking ones."

"You _do _realize that you're responsible for _one _marriage breaking up?" Randy looked up at him from the bench in bewilderment. "Celeste?" Dave continued in a condescending tone.

"Oh, so her husband found out about us?"

"I'm surprised you're still alive. Celeste is too frail of a creature to attack you but I wouldn't have put it past her husband. One of these days, a pissed off husband _will _find you."

"Look, I can't help it if the married ladies love me too," Randy replied, gesturing at his chest. "It's not my fault these men can't satisfy their wives."

"So, is this one married?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Orton answered, standing up from the bench to retrieve his clothing as well. Dave's only response was a disgusted noise in the back of his throat that he tried to stifle as he wondered why he was friends with Randy.

* * *

Orianne closed her laptop and sighed. After replying to a message from her brother, someone who had no problem using e-mail, she had sent her latest e-mail off to Sloan. Over three weeks in the business and she had yet to tell him. Unfortunately, it'd be a week or more before she heard something back from him; he preferred to write letters. It irritated the hell out of her. He was a goddamn software engineer but he preferred to _write _letters. He had the Internet and e-mail available to him 24-7 while he was overseas but she had had to deal with snail mail for nine years. It was romantic for the first year but now it was just annoying.

However, Sloan still considered it romantic. Plus, he complained about how much he had to use computers that it was nice to put pen to paper the old-fashioned way. She had wanted to reply that women had to wait months the old-fashioned way to find out if their husbands survived during wars. In rebellion, she replied back to his letters through e-mail. He never said a word and she finally decided not to say another either. At least he cared enough to let her know he was still alive and ask what was going on with her.

Orianne rose from the desk and took the two necessary steps into the tiny bedroom. She had hotel rooms bigger than this but since she saw little of the inside of the apartment—four days on the road and a day and a half in the lab—she didn't need the space. The suitcase was out and waiting on the bed. She sifted through the requisite uniform shirts and tossed in the strappy lingerie top with two others. Only a couple of guys ringside gave the two women trouble last week. This time they agreed and planned to wear the matching tops during a houseshow. With one RAW and one interpromotional pay-per-view coming up, they wouldn't have to see these tops again for a long time. Maybe they wouldn't sell well on ShopZone and the two women wouldn't have to wear them again.

* * *

Dave balled the newspaper up and dropped it into the trashcan. Glancing around at the other balconies around him and finding no one out, he struck the match and dropped it into the can. He was angry on many levels. First, only women burned pictures of their ex-boyfriends. Men either kept the pictures, depending on the level of nudity in them, or just tossed them aside like it was nothing. Second, no one warned him of Gabrielle's wedding. Yes, he knew that she was engaged but he had no idea that she would be married within a month of breaking up with him. But there she was in the wedding announcements—a picture of the tall blonde in a white sleeveless gown holding a bouquet of white roses with "Dean-Edwards Wedding" printed underneath.

The first to go was every picture he could find of her. He ripped them into shreds and dropped them into the wastebasket. The ones of the two of them he held for last. He carefully separated the picture, tearing the two of them apart before ripping her face to pieces. He stared at the torn scraps that now only had his smiling face on them. He wanted to see a happy Dave Batista without _her _in the picture, literally and figuratively. He'd never find that again. Of course he had said that with the other women who had broke his heart but he had really thought he had found the one in Gabrielle with whom he could spend the rest of his life. He was crazy for thinking that. No, he would never find that happiness again. Those shreds of paper were next dropped into the trashcan. He picked up the container and the kitchen matches and marched out onto the balcony. One last glance at the picture and the newspaper was sitting on top of the shreds of pictures. The lighted match followed and his heart found some release. Not much but some.

* * *

Orianne settled into a seat beside Dennis for the Monday meeting, grateful that he had chosen one where she was out of the way and hopefully wouldn't be noticed. She was no social butterfly but she was also intimidated by the atmosphere. With the exception of the photographers and several technicians, the rest of the room was filled with the wrestlers and would shortly be joined by the Triple H and the McMahons. It didn't get much more intimidating than that, especially since she learned quickly that if you weren't a wrestler, you were crap.

Dennis nodded at her. "Thought you were gonna be late," he said with no tone whatsoever to his voice. It was not that she and Dennis didn't get along but that their personalities were so conflicting that she generally didn't socialize with him beyond what was necessary. Basically, she acted her age and he was more immature than she could sometimes stand. What was worse is that he shared the same good looks and persona as Randy Orton's television character and his alleged attitude backstage and on the nightclub scene. From what Orianne had heard, that was true. Most women only looked at his dark blonde hair, lean frame, and baby blue eyes. It didn't help that he was a male chauvinist and she was an egalitarian feminist.

Orianne didn't hate him and she would rather sit beside him than other people she didn't know or take one of the only other seats remaining by Carlito, not hardly an option for many reasons. The other seat was the one beside her now and she became highly aware of that fact when Randy Orton walked in, quickly followed by Dave Batista. If she had her druthers, Batista would come waltzing over and have a seat beside her, flash her a brilliant smile, and then ask her… Her thoughts were rudely interrupted as her worst fear at the moment came to pass—_Randy Orton _waltzed over and had a seat beside her, flashing her his brilliant smile and then asking her, "How's it going?"

"Fine, thank you," Orianne answered, glancing at him and then pulling a small notebook out of her jacket pocket and uncapping her pen. She carried the notebook with her in case she needed to take notes but it only appeared when necessary. Now, she was trying to hint at Randy that she didn't want to talk. Cara had told her their whole sordid affair and Orianne had no intention of even speaking to him more than she absolutely had to.

Orton waited for her to ask him how he was and, when she didn't, he said, "Same here. I was thinking—"

Orianne was praying that he would shut up and her prayers had never been answered so quickly as in the moment when the McMahons entered and a tense hush fell over the room when the chairman greeted them all, interrupting whatever Randy was about to say. Throughout the meeting, she tried to figure out a way to get Dennis to switch seats with her but nothing came to her. Just as she decided to risk the wrath of the McMahons and attempt to leave to fake needing to go to the restroom, the meeting was adjourned. She quickly rose but Randy put his arm out across the aisle and grasped the chair in front of him. Adding to her anxiety, Dennis noticed and vaulted over the row in front of him to leave. She was stuck with Randy.

"Where are you going so quickly? You haven't even given me a chance to introduce myself," he facetiously said with that same smile.

"Well, I just have to prepare for the show and I already know who you are," she amicably replied but without any expression on her visage.

"Then since you know my name, you are…"

Orianne still smiled what she hoped would pass as genuine. She held her hand out to initiate a handshake and began, "I'm…" Randy raised his hand to reach for hers, unblocking her way down the aisle, but she quickly jerked it away and scooted past him, just as she had hoped. "…leaving," she replied and hurried out of the room.

Sighting Cara up ahead, she double-timed it to catch up and pulled the other woman aside. "You won't _believe _this," Orianne whispered in Cara's ear. "I don't know whether to be disgusted or flattered but let me tell you what just happened."

* * *

After watching the newspaper and pictures burn to nothing but ashes, Dave had stalked back into his apartment, an apartment that he decided was good enough until he could come to appreciate aesthetic qualities again and purchase a house. No point in wasting his money until then—if it _ever _happened. The gymbag he had angrily packed in haste—because he was running late from his foray into the world of arson—was open before him in the lockerroom and he was missing an armbrace. He shuffled through the contents one more time and finally gave up, throwing the bag into the wooden cubicle. He didn't know why he was angry. It wasn't like he _had_ to have the brace because he was only doing a run-in tonight, unlike the past two nights in which he only had to make an appearance in his suits. He had been far too irritated lately at little things—something that wasn't in his nature. He was so easy going but everything seemed to annoy him. The only time he found he should have been frustrated but wasn't occurred during his weekly poker games.

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Batista decided a cold Coke was what he needed for that little extra caffeine jump. He pushed open the door, feeling as he had finally cooled off until he saw Randy Orton catch sight of him and turn around to wait for him in the hall. He only thought he was over his moment of irritation because he knew what was coming. Last night, Randy had begged Dave to ask Cara Whitfield (since he couldn't ask her himself) about the new photographer—he hadn't. The loverboy could do it himself.

"Well?" Randy asked.

"I didn't get a chance," Dave replied apologetically. He honestly hadn't bothered to even see what she looked like while he was in the ring. He had a match and his and his opponent's safety was more important than looking at some chick. "I'm sure you asked around though."

"Of course I did," Randy replied, as if offended by the suggestion that he wouldn't. "All I got was that she's married to some guy stationed in Iraq—something Anderson. For now, she's simply Mrs. Anderson, you know, like Mrs. Robinson."

"_Randy!_" Dave scolded but Orton stared at him with an expression of shock, his face saying what he wanted to voice—"What?" Batista shook his head, amazed that his younger friend wasn't getting it. "Despite the fact I don't approve of you sleeping with married women, I have kept my opinion to myself about your sex life but I think you should draw the line at sleeping with a soldier's wife. Have _some _morals."

"But she'll be easy. Think of all that time he's been away and she's been without a man in her bed. Easy, man," Orton said, more to convince himself than Dave.

All that anger and irritation came back and Dave had to refrain from yelling at Randy, "You're despicable." Instead, he replied, "I'm assuming then that she's rather beautiful?"

"Ehhh," he replied, holding his hand out flat and tilting it back and forth. "She's cute as in the girl next door cute. Like your little sister cute. I do have to admit, I can't wait to get my hands in her hair. It's this raven black and it looks so silky and it comes down to here," Randy said and gestured to right below his shoulder blades.

"You're after the new girl because she's cute like your little sister cute?"

Orton didn't respond at first and Batista was almost curious enough to push the question again when Randy's cheeks started to get red. "That bitch, Cara, got to her first. She shut me down," he angrily answered.

"Cara?"

"No, the photographer!"

"So…you're giving up now?" Dave suggested

"Oh, hell no! I'll do it just to spite Cara. This isn't the first woman she's done this with." Dave thought, _Good for her. _"This time, I'm gonna win."

"By doing exactly what?" Batista asked, afraid that Randy may have just gone over the edge this time.

"What I do best—seduce Mrs. Robinson."

"I think you have some serious issues," Dave replied with an inward sigh of relief. He still wasn't happy about Randy's plans but it was much better than what he was afraid the younger man would have done.

"Maybe I'll get some of those _issues_ to rub off on you."

"Don't count on it, man. I'm not a homewrecker."

* * *

Orianne was succumbing to the problem she had with photographing wrestling—she was too interested in the show. But at least her mind was off of today's earlier confrontation with Randy Orton. A week after his first attempt to talk to her, the ladies' man had tracked her down right before the house shows despite her ability to hide from him for the rest of the day when she heard he was looking for her. Somehow he had caught her in a dead-end hallway.

"Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady," he said, producing red roses from behind his back.

"Um…thank you?" she replied, not really knowing what exactly was going on.

"What are you doing after the show tonight?"

"I'm married," she adamantly answered, ready to put an end to this. "I'm going back to my hotel room and stay out of trouble."

Randy glanced away and laughed. "Baby," he said and reached out to touch the lock of hair that lay across her shoulder. "You won't have any complaints about the trouble I have to offer."

"A quick roll in the hay?" she asked, looking down at where he was running her lock of hair between her fingers.

"That's too crude for what I have in mind," he suggestively replied.

"Sure, sugah," she drawled in an affected Southern accent. "I'm sure we can find an abandoned maintenance closet."

Randy's mouth dropped but he quickly recovered. "I promise you a night you'll never forget. My roommate's out tonight, so how about we meet up after the show?"

"One night only?"

"Uh…"

"Yeah, I guess," the photographer relied nonchalantly. Randy's face paled a little. None of his trysts had happened this way but he nodded. She then shoved the roses into his chest. "At least you were honest upfront with me, unlike with Cara. Kiss my ass!" Orianne pushed around him and stalked off down the hall, her limp slightly more pronounced as she practically ran through the corridor.

Now, at ringside, Batista's back was to her and he was holding the steel chair out to his left side, ready to wield it against Triple H. Orianne and Quinn had been side by side the entire night but, now that this confrontation was taking place, Cedarius and Dennis were crowding them for shots from their corner and she remembered exactly what she was supposed to be doing. Orianne would rather have pictures of Batista's face as he attacked Hunter versus the thousand pictures of the ten-time Heavyweight champion.

She backed out of the group avidly snapping away and hurried around one side of the ring. From there she had to drop into a crouch to keep from being in the main camera's view. Pausing to take a few pictures along the way, she was too slow and Batista had already attempted to hit Helmsley with the chair and his opponent was backing up the ramp. Behind the camera lens, she lost perspective on the trajectory of the chair when he tossed it aside. Someone yelled at her to watch out and she jerked to the side at the last second, losing her balance and sprawling out into an ungraceful heap.

Dave watched the chair, as if in slow motion, sail through the air in the direction of the lone photographer. He inwardly cringed as he realized it was going to hit her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her tumble over, doing her best to protect her cameras. His first impulse was to rush out of the ring to check on her since he knew how much steel chairs hurt. But he had to stay in character. He chided himself for not checking before throwing the chair aside but then he realized it was as much her fault as his. Ring staff were warned to stay out of the way to keep from accidentally interfering. They were given highlights of the show that would affect them and he remembered seeing her at the meeting earlier, having no idea at the time who she was. Well, now, he didn't have to feel guilty about it.

But he did, he had been thinking as he posed in each of the corners and now he was leaning against the turnbuckle in front of her. She was sitting cross-legged, her camera to her eyes. He glanced down at her at the same time the camera flashed. He would at least apologize to her after the show to make himself feel better, especially since she had such dedication to snap away after being hit with a chair—a chair that _he_ threw. He knew that she was already injured in some way as he caught the back of her retreating form as she favored one leg after her confrontation with Orton.

Batista had jerked Randy up by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. "Did you hurt her?"

"No way, dude," he angrily replied and pushed Batista away. He straightened his shirt and glared at the bigger man. "What makes you think that?"

"You promise you didn't hurt her?"

"I promise, man." Dave was satisfied with the answer and left Randy staring after him questioningly. Now, Dave was berating himself for hurting her.

Orianne was thrilled about the scene she had captured—the Animal on high looking down on his competition. While, in an essence, he had glanced down from the rope he stood on, her position on the mat would be from that perspective underneath and she couldn't wait to submit it as a cover page. She rose from her position in the corner and snapped a few pictures of Lillian thanking them for coming.

The beauty of the photographer's job is that she or he now was on their own time. From the informational meeting until the house lights went up, they were on WWE time. Orianne headed to the women's locker room to gather her jacket, purse, and camera bags where she always stowed them in a locker. Having spent some time in and out of the ladies' dressing room, they were all on a first name basis with her and that was all for now. Within two weeks of being there, she had been handing out leftover photographs to them because she despised the waste of good photos of which WWE had no need.

Lita was in and out before the photographer could catch the woman to give her great shots she had of her. The redhead was not very welcome among most of the divas, so she spent little time in the locker room as possible to avoid the tension and glares. Orianne was a 'help the stray puppy' type, so she had gone out of her way to speak to Lita. Of course, it wasn't any of her business but one can't undo the past—as her grandmother used to say, once you let the skunk out, you can't put the stink back in. She passed a print off to Victoria and decided to head back to the hotel room, tempted to take Cedarius up on the offer to go clubbing. She had declined twice already, not wishing to have to flash her wedding band at anybody, _if _she was that lucky, who came on to her. This was where she wasn't getting Randy Orton bringing her flowers, much less speaking to her. She felt like Carrie being asked to the prom. Unfortunately, she was not telekinetic.

The hotel was four blocks away, a walk that beat a ride with the three guys she rode with between house shows. WWE admin was really harping on them to carpool to save on money. People like Cena and Batista could drive solo but she was crammed into a car with three other guys, one of whom was, well, the stereotypical guy, fart jokes and all, another who contributed to it when he had nothing else to do, and the other who simply tolerated it. If she wanted to hang around long enough, she could catch a ride with the technical staff on their buses. Instead, she told Quinn that she was heading out with some friends and not to worry about her.

After two blocks of walking the sidewalk and dodging straggling fans leaving the arena, she immediately regretted her decision. A storm had been brewing all day and she could feel it all through her leg. She thought it might have felt good to walk to the hotel because it would give her a chance to work out the kinks from leaning over and crouching during the evening and the atmospheric change. But now, her hip, knee, and ankle were being to ache painfully and a light mist had begun to fall. Just as she thanked god for weatherproof camera cases—her prayers had been answered rather quickly lately—the heavens opened and torrents fell.

Orianne could do nothing but trudge on and ignore the car horn honking at her. "Hey…Anne…Ride!" she barely heard over the rain and glanced at the sports car that had pulled up beside her. Dave Batista was leaning down to peer out the open passenger window at her. "Get in!" he shouted.

TBC…


	5. Frogs and Umbrellas

**_Chapter V: Frogs and Umbrellas_**

Knowing Batista and Orton were friends—or so she had heard—Orianne was very reluctant to just climb in the car with the sexiest man in wrestling, a man whose best friend was hitting on her for some reason she couldn't figure out. She stepped close to the window and leaned down so he could hear her. "I can see the hotel from here," she replied, pointing at the top of the building, the only part she _could _see. "Thanks but I don't want to get your seat wet."

"It's a rental. Get in. You're soaking wet."

"Really, it's okay," she responded, shaking her head. "I can—" She suddenly stopped as he opened the driver's door and climbed out into the rain in his expensive suit. He took the camera bags from her shoulders and folded the passenger seat down, setting the bags in the back. He flipped the seat back in place and gestured for her to get in. She had no choice and slid into the Boxster, wondering how in the world he fit in the car. "Now you're all wet, too. You really shouldn't have—"

"I wouldn't be wet if you had just gotten in," he replied with a wide grin.

She almost melted and weakly smiled at him before turning to face the windshield. "Thanks, Mr. Batista," she murmured.

"Call me, Dave. All my friends do," he corrected.

_Does that mean I'm now a friend_, she wanted to ask but knew better because of her status.

"Orianne Thomas…Anderson," she quickly added her last name. It had been a long time since she had forgotten to add on her married name. "My friends call me '_Orianne_." She pronounced her name affectedly to keep him from getting any ideas about shortening it.

"I see that," he said with a laugh and flicked her employee badge that was affixed to the lapel of her jacket. They both grew silent and Dave decided now was as good as any to apologize. "I didn't mean to hit you with that chair tonight. I tried to find you after the show to apologize but it seems you were already walking in the rain," he said, turning to give her a facetious grin as he stopped for a redlight. His face then grew solemn and he added, "Really, I'm sorry."

"Oh, you didn't hit me—it missed. I guess it looked like that when I lost my balance," she replied as apologetically as possible, putting a hand on his bicep. Realizing that she had reached out and touched him, she awkwardly pulled her hand back.

"I don't bite," he responded, not really knowing what to say after finding out that he hadn't hit her even though he had been beating himself up over it.

"I do," she said in return, sounding a little flirtier than she had meant…or had she?

Dave pulled up under the portico to the hotel, leaving the car running. He started to get out to open her door but she hopped out and began to fiddle with the latch to lean the seat forward. "How does this work?"

"I'll bring them in for you."

"I can get—"

"You can stand there all night and fight with the latch or you can just let me bring them in."

She acquiesced, stepping back from the car, and could only wave the doorman off as he held the door open for her and then waited. Within a couple of minutes, Dave appeared across the parking lot, jogging towards the entrance with her cameras in tow. "Let's get inside. You must be cold."

Orianne nodded and followed him, not believing what had transpired. Dave Batista had picked her up in the rain of his own free will, driven her to the hotel, and brought in her things.

The wrestler wanted to offer her his arm for her to lean on but, having quickly learned how headstrong she was, he knew she would decline. His only option would have been to pick her up and carry her but he didn't know this woman well enough to do so. "I'm on the fifteenth floor. You?" she asked as she pressed the 'up' button on the elevator.

"Me too," he partially lied, having every intention of walking her to her room. Her camera bags were heavier than they looked.

Orianne wasn't sure she believed him but she couldn't exactly call out a man she didn't know. They stepped into the empty elevator together and she pushed the button for their floor. She fixed her eyes on the numbers as they lit up each floor they passed, obliviously to Dave's eyes.

Batista studied her now that they were in well-lit place. Her black-hair was plastered to her head; the red bandana folded into a triangle that was holding her hair back was starting to slip down the slick tresses. He had no doubt that what Orton had said about her hair was true when it was dry. She wore a little eye-liner but that seemed to be her only make-up, doing nothing to cover the smattering of freckles that dotted her nose. She wore a green, quilted lightweight jacket that was pulled tight with her hands in her pockets. Brown half-loafers peeked out of the bottom of her khakis. She leaned on her right leg, her left one slightly bent at the knee to show a bright red sock with what he thought might be umbrellas on it. _How ironic, _he thought.

When the doors dinged open, he quickly looked away and followed her out of the elevator. "I'm in 1521," she stated, pausing to remember if she was supposed to turn left or right.

"This way," he said, noticing the sign on the wall. He was supposed to be meeting the guys in about five minutes in room 1523, right beside her room. He waited for her to open the door and then handed the cameras off to her when she made no move to give him room to come in.

She tried not to stare at him as she thanked him. The coat of his grey pin-stripe suit was open and the front of the thin shirt underneath was soaked with rain, clinging to his broad chest. Water droplets still clung to his hair that was just beginning to curl again. She hoped he wouldn't have it trimmed as she liked it long. Of course, it mattered not as she had nothing to do with his appearance and only saw in him in the ring for a few minutes three times a week. His deep brown eyes watched her intently and she stammered through a 'goodbye' and shut the door behind her.

If her clothes weren't soaked and she wasn't shivering, her body would be on fire. Being cold and wet was what set her to moving again after she leaned up against the door with a big sigh. After grabbing a sip of water with painkillers, she peeled out of her clothes where she stood to head for a steaming shower, thankful that she didn't have a roommate. Either the people booking the room were being extremely nice because she was a soldier's wife (which was the usual) or because she was the only woman photographer. Knowing Dennis had a room to his own, she figured that rooms were booked by staff groups and by gender. Therefore, the photographers had three rooms—two for the men and one for her. As bitchy as they were about the budget, she figured someone would have caught that by now.

The tepid water from the faucet wasn't quenching her thirst from her two and a half block trek—a feat for her in a rainstorm and in pain—and struggling to speak to a man that made her heart stop just by looking at him. She pulled on a pair of cotton pajama bottoms, a sweatshirt, and pair of socks before heading out with the ice bucket.

Batista was situated at the table with the guys just right to be able to catch a glimpse of Orianne as she started down the hall. Mike had gotten a call from his fiancée and had stepped out to take it—apparently the referee was in some sort of trouble with her and he was now wandering down the hall away from the guys to handle it. The door was left propped open per custom to keep the other lazy bums from having to get up.

"I think I'll get some more ice," he announced, "while we're waiting on Mike." He grabbed the cream plastic bucket and headed out, taking long strides to catch up with her. Remembering her limp at the show and on the sidewalk in the rain, he wanted to check on her. "Fancy meeting you here," he said over the sound of the ice machine, scaring the life out of her.

Orianne let out a noise of surprise and whipped around. "Dave!" she exclaimed.

"Sorry," he apologized, the second of the night. "Did you get warmed up?" he asked, looking over her pajamas and damp hair. _Were those frogs on her socks?_ Dave wondered.

"Yeah," she replied as he pushed the bucket up against the lever to dispense the ice. "You?" She then looked him over. He had changed into a white undershirt, blue trackpants, and tennis shoes. For what she usually saw him in, he looked extremely comfortable. When he nodded, she turned to go and he watched her take a few steps before catching up with her. Her shower must have done a lot for her because the limp was barely perceptible.

"Have a goodnight," she said as they stopped at her door.

As he was about to wish her the same, they heard Ric Flair call out the door of Mike's room. "Quit flirting and get in here." Dave's face turned red and then Orianne's did the same. Flair's head appeared around the door. "Oh, hi, Orianne," the blonde said.

"Hi, sir," she replied.

"Thanks for those pictures. You really should do my niece's wedding. I'll pay double what you usually charge."

"I appreciate it but I don't do weddings. Not my specialty."

"Your loss," he said with a grin.

"Well, double of nothing is nothing. So, I guess not."

"You're good, girl. C'mon, Dave. Mike's back," Ric said to the larger wrestler and then turned to Orianne. "Poker night. Wanna join?"

"Um, not tonight. Thank you, though," she responded. Dave was disappointed to hear that and it bothered him that he didn't know why.

Orianne was simply bothered by the fact that she was so 'bothered' by being around Dave Batista. She didn't need this. She was so mad at Sloan that she didn't miss him at this point—she just missed being with somebody. While Dave probably didn't want her, she couldn't fixate on him to replace Sloan in his absence.

* * *

Dave Batista waltzed into Friday's houseshow with a smile on his face. He had something to tell Randy Orton and he couldn't wait. "And how exactly do you plan on seducing Mrs. Robinson this week?" he asked the younger man situated on the wooden bench.

"I'm laying off this week until I can find out who she goes out with in the evenings and where. I'll surprise her at some club, dance with her, and—bam!—she's mine," Randy replied, rubbing his hands together.

"Just so you know, her name is _Ori_anne, not _Lori_anne."

The look on his face was well worth not telling him over the phone. "You're kidding me?" Randy looked away in embarrassment and then turned back to Batista. "I'm glad she didn't see the name on the roses. I had it completely wrong."

"Maybe that's a hint you need to leave her alone."

"Why? _You_ want her or something? While you're at it, maybe you can explain why you're throwing me into walls because of her?" Orton accusingly asked.

"Sorry about that, man. The way she stormed off, I thought you did something to her. That's all, alright?" Dave shrugged and sat down beside him.

"Why are so concerned about her?"

"No reason. I just don't particularly like to see _any _woman hurt."

"Well, don't get too attached," Randy warned, standing up to leave. "When I'm done with her, I'm done. If she knows we're friends, she probably won't talk to you again."

"No skin off my back," Dave replied. But it was a lie to some extent. After talking with Orianne what little he did on Monday, he honestly didn't think that Randy would get far with her. She was very stubborn and very shy. If he broke through her reticence, he still had to convince her to even be alone with him. Dave severely doubted it. What worried him was if Orton would take it too far and force himself on her just to spite Cara Whitfield. Just in case, Batista decided he would watch Orianne and Randy closely.

Over the next month, that's what he did, although he seemed to watch Orianne more. Over the course of twelve shows, he had observed some rather interesting things about her. The limp that had plagued her was almost gone. Unless one studied her carefully, it wasn't even noticeable. Of course, _that _made him wonder what had happened to her. She always wore her hair down with a folded bandana tied at the nape of her neck to hold the black locks back. She apparently only had four colors—white, black, red, and navy blue. While she mostly wore the shirts like the other staff, she had a flair about her dress—she wore brightly colored socks with something always stitched on them. With the exception of being on the floor, she always had that green jacket pulled around her while she was inside. She was always seemed withdrawn, hardly smiling or laughing, except when she was around Cara Whitfield or Cedarius Cooper. It was more of a serious demeanor rather than depressed or remote.

After not hearing anything from Randy or noticing anything out of the ordinary with Orianne, Dave inquired if the predator had given up. "No," Randy adamantly answered. "I just don't know for sure what I'm doing next. I can't find this woman anywhere but at the arena. I can account for like three quarters of the staff every night after the houseshows and RAW. I know _exactly _where Cedarius and Cara are at. She's not with them. She's not with anybody. It's like she's a hermit."

"When you asked her what she was doing after the show, didn't she say she was just going back to her hotel room?" Dave asked and Randy nodded. "Maybe this ain't worth it," Dave added, weighing the consequences. The younger wrestler hadn't slept with another woman on the road because he was too obsessed with getting Orianne in the bed. That was good for all those women but, if he stopped obsessing with Orianne, then he would start sleeping with everything in a skirt again. Dave said nothing else, unsure of what to say.

"I'll get there. I'll bet money on it."

"I'm not going there," Dave replied and busied himself with getting ready for the night's houseshow.

TBC…


	6. Surprise Invitations

_**Chapter VI: Surprise Invitations**_

While Dave Batista had had his eyes on her, Orianne's visual subjects were much less appetizing than the wrestler. Two weeks after meeting Dave, she was informed that her services were required for the Diva contestant photoshoot.

"Ex-excuse me?" she stammered, on the phone with Jennifer McNay.

"Our usual studio photographer isn't available for the next two weeks and we somehow failed to notice this. I've managed to snag you a bonus for it," the head of human resources enticed.

"Somehow I don't think this is an option, is it?"

"Sorry, no. I was just trying to make it easier by you agreeing rather than me having to tell you to be there."

"Do I need to provide the theme? Or any of the props for the shoot?" Orianne hesitantly asked.

"No, it's completely standard. We're shipping the equipment with the roadcrew next week and all you have to do is show up."

"I don't need to provide any cameras?" the photographer asked, nervously picking at a stray thread on her jacket.

"Not unless you have one already that you would prefer. Boswick used the company's when we sent him out."

"Good, because I don't own any designed solely for photoshoots."

"It's not a problem," Jennifer replied, noting on her to-do list a call to Quinn to handle sending out the items Orianne would need. "Let me get some details down and I'll call you back with the time and the exact location in the arena." The head of human resources sighed with relief as she replaced the receiver on her phone. That was not all that hard, even though she knew Orianne would be a push-over. She just hated having to spring this on the poor woman as she had frustratingly thought up until about an hour ago that Boswick was still going to be the designated photographer.

Sonny Boswick was a male chauvinist pig to the utmost. He had hidden that from the company quite easily until he started photoshoots with the women of the company. Complaints had started coming in his second year with the WWE about how he flirted with the girls a little more than was comfortable for them and then, four months ago, he was accused of pinching one on the butt. It was her word against his and Jennifer needed to do something about it before the company was sued for sexual harassment. McMahon wouldn't let her fire him because he was the best photographer they had ever employed. Since then, she had managed to suspend all shoots with the women. However, the Diva contest was coming up and there was no choice.

Jennifer voiced her opinion in this regard to Vince in their weekly meeting. "You hired that woman, didn't you?" Vince asked as if departmental head was stupid.

"Yes and, as I recall, we hired her in as a ringside photographer, not a studio one."

"That's why I wanted to hire a woman," McMahon replied as if she was supposed to know. "So she could do the shoots and not Boswick."

"That would have been nice if you had told me that in the first place," Jennifer said in response, angrily putting pen to paper to make a note of the change.

"And you thought I was hiring her because of affirmative action," Vince replied, amused at himself.

"She doesn't have studio experience."

"None?"

"Not professionally."

"It's just the women," Vince answered dismissively. "As long as you can see their tits and asses, it doesn't matter the quality of the pictures." Jennifer bristled at his comment but had long since given up fighting with him over the issue. "Would you have still hired her if you knew my plans?"

"Possibly not."

"Alright then. I had to do what I had to do."

"I said _'possibly'_," she replied through gritted teeth.

"Call her and get her ass down to the arena that morning," Vince stated and then began shuffling papers on his desk, looking for something in particular.

"Any special requests for the shoot?"

"Tits and ass," he replied without looking up from the agenda he was checking for the next item of discussion.

This was exactly how Orianne found herself, nervous as hell, photographing half naked women two weeks in a row. The first week the backdrop was simply white and she warned the women upon their first meeting that they should not wear _anything _white. Luckily, she would only have to send one upset girl back to change. After explaining the plans for the shoot, they were sent off for hair and make-up while Orianne walked around the equipment, acting as if she knew what she was doing. If it didn't involve a flash that attached to the camera or required a cord, it was not her forte. All that was set-up was all familiar from her classes in college but the woman pulled in a crewmember to stand in for some test shots. She finally dismissed him when everything seemed to be turning out alright.

First, each of the contestants had to parade through for pictures they would be using for the voting. Inexperienced with posing people, Orianne smiled broadly and told each of them to be their selves, pose as they like so it would be more natural.

Being anxious over the importance of these photos and keeping her job, she took more time than was probably necessary with each girl, which ran her over schedule. The group pictures were up next and the women were hurried haphazardly back onto the floor together. Once again, "pose natural" but it looked like crap. Orianne cocked her head sideways and then folded her arms across her chest before propping her chin up on one hand as if she was thinking about where to place them. Inside she was freaking out.

"Brent!" she called out. "Give me your opinion."

"My opinion?" The crewmember had been privy to many photoshoots but was usually just a gopher or got yelled at because one tiny thing was out of place. "The blonde there and the brunette here and…" he whispered to her, afraid he might be upsetting another photographer. Orianne had to keep from clapping her hands together and shouting for joy at Brent's suggestions. As she had hoped, he had paid attention during other shoots.

"Alright, ladies, we're almost out of time. We get to do this again next week. The backdrop is red and black, so think twice about what you bring to wear. Also, brainstorm for some poses that you would like to see for your pictures next week. I'll be all ears. Now, let's get these last ones done," Orianne explained, taking some of the pressure off of herself if these women actually did what her job was supposed to entail. With some shuffling and a few more clicks of the camera, they were done for the week.

While the divas seemed to be more concerned over their clothing, Orianne was getting her hands on as much information as she could for arranging group shoots. She also delved in past female group shoots at headquarters and was prepared to some extent this time, if necessary…which was a good thing. The women _had _banded together in some sort of camaraderie and came up with _one_ pose that featured each of their assets. Of course, the point of the pose was so that each one would be focused upon and would garner votes. Next week was to be their first night on live television where each of them would be required to perform some stunt before one would be voted off the next RAW.

Orianne was quite proud of their one pose but she had to supply the rest for the groupshots. Once again, however, she gave them the freedom to do as they wished for the single shots, which would be featured in their bios and in print. When it was a wrap, the photographer lost herself in the make-shift staff lounge and caught a quick catnap before the show. She was tired of thongs, mini-skirts, make-up, and hairspray and upset that her job description didn't limit this type of work.

That night, freshly showered and absolutely exhausted from the past two weeks' events, the overused photographer snuggled under the covers of the bed and flipped to the last page she had been reading last night. After reading the same page three times, she pushed up in the bed and flipped on the television but her mind wasn't on the show either. She mentally counted up the number of books she had read since starting work at WWE. The number was startling but then she had to rethink how much of that was done in the car or on the plane. Still, she had spent every evening in her room reading while everyone else was out having a good time. Her excuse was that she wasn't much of a night person, which then landed her lunch or breakfast with Cara when they met up in each city.

Orianne remembered that Cedarius had mentioned they were hanging out in the hotel bar tonight and she slid out of the bed to rummage through her suitcase to find something suitable. She had never made plans to go out and packed nothing appropriate. Finally deciding on jeans and a white, button-up dress shirt, part of her professional travel wardrobe, she dressed and headed out the door. She was actually looking forward to being social.

The photographer pushed her door closed behind her when she heard raucous laughter from a room with a propped open door—that was Dave Batista's laugh. She headed for the room but immediately backtracked. She couldn't invite herself into a room just because the man had been exceptionally friendly with her one night and then simply acknowledged her every week with a 'hi, how ya doing?'

Ric Flair appeared at the door before she had turned around. "Orianne! Hey, girl!"

"Hi, sir," she replied.

"'Ric', call me 'Ric.' I was just about to shut the door. We were waiting on Rob to get here but he called and said he couldn't make it," Flair explained. "We're short a guy. Wanna join?" She looked hesitant and Ric added, "We don't play for money."

"Um, sure," she answered before she realized it. Her heart began to pound as she stepped through the door and her breath caught in her chest when Dave met her eyes.

"You're joining us, Orianne?" he asked. She nodded and sat down in the proffered chair.

"It is my privilege to be sharing this poker game with the wife of one of our men in Iraq," Shawn Michaels said to her with a wide grin when she was seated.

"Oh, stop it," she replied and waved him off. The two had talked within a week of her arrival in the company. Shawn's father had served in the Air Force as well and Orianne learned that Shawn himself was deeply patriotic and supportive of the troops. He was very respective of her, understanding what she had been through and not treating her any different. She had shared that irritation with him and now he took every opportunity to pick at her about it. Of course, she hadn't shared her deepest feelings regarding the war and Sloan's departure. Because of his respect, she humored him.

"Any news lately?" he asked.

"Nope. I got a letter last week but it was just the usual." _Hardly, _she thought. They were still fighting over her taking this position. The letter addressing her news of taking the job had taken two weeks to arrive and she had sent another e-mail defending her choice. This last letter was less harsh than the first. Instead of lashing out at her, he attempted to explain how he would rather she not be traveling so much, working so much, and living alone. He only wanted her to be as safe as possible while she was alone. In her mind, the argument was over. He had chosen his profession despite her objections and now she had chosen hers regardless of his objections.

"Better than bad news," Shawn replied.

"No doubt," she added with an uneasy smile.

"Have you met Mike?" Dave asked, noticing how she seemed to be uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

"Yes," she answered and nodded towards Mike. "I wasn't sure you had escaped Kane's pyro tonight. Still have your eyebrows?"

"It wouldn't be the first time I lost them."

"But that wasn't because of pyro," Flair interrupted.

"That's a story I want to hear some time," Orianne said with a laugh.

"Well, see, it happened like this…" Mike began.

For the next couple of hours, Dave enjoyed the poker game like he hadn't before. She had readily agreed when they explained that they played for favors. It seemed to bring out the competitiveness in her, something he hadn't seen in the past month or so. The two of them bantered and traded insults down to the last hand of the game. While poor Mike had lost first, Dave had edged Orianne out in the end before Shawn beat him. Now Mike owed Shawn the favor, which would probably be something as simple doing his laundry.

"Well, guys, it's been a trip. I'm going to bed," Orianne announced with a yawn as it seemed they were taking a while to disperse. She was not much of a morning person despite her lie to Cara about not being a night person and the flight out tomorrow was way too early.

"You'll join us tomorrow?" Shawn asked. Dave had been debating on asking her the same question but felt he was too new to the group to invite another person in. There was more laughter with her there and he enjoyed what her presence brought, sure that the other guys felt the same way.

"We'll see," she answered and rose from her chair.

"Do you want me to walk you to your room?" Dave asked, rising from his seat as well.

"Thank you but I'm just across the hall," she demurred. Dave was grateful for his dark complexion because he reddened at the slight embarrassment. "Good night, gentlemen."

"Good night, my lady," Ric replied with his dashing grin and pulled the door open for her.

* * *

"Okay, I have a question," Orianne said as Shawn lost his last chips to Ric. "I know if you quit without losing all your money, you've lost—you owe the favor. Say you're not the first person out of the game, can you leave the table and not be considered the loser?" 

"Why not? You've got nothing to lose at that point," Shawn replied, the original member of the first poker group. As competitive as guys were, that was never a concern before.

"Well, I think I'm gonna go."

"Something wrong?" Dave immediately asked.

"No, it's just…" she trailed off but the guys anxiously looked at her. "Well, there's this movie I wanted to see and it's about to come on."

"Is this a movie that you can watch with your mother?" Flair suggestively asked.

"Yes," she replied with a laugh and smacked him on the arm.

"So what is it?" Mike asked, only to keep teasing her.

"Attack of the Clones."

"You haven't seen that?"

"Well, no but I want to see the third one and I figure I should see the second one." Cedarius and Cara had good-naturedly made fun of her for not seeing either of them and she figured she needed to redeem herself.

"Bad movie. Don't bother."

"Which one?"

"The third one was at least better than the one before it."

"_I _thought it was better than the first one."

"The second one was nothing but a chick flick."

With the exception of Dave, the guys threw out comments left and right before digressing into arguing about the virtues of the Star Wars movies, complete with RVD making light saber noises. Orianne waited a moment and then excused herself, leaving her chips at her spot to let them do as they wish. They hardly looked up as they began arguing over who was sexier—Amidala or Leia. However, when Dave stood up, they all stopped and stared at him. "I'm going with her. I haven't seen it either. Watching movies alone is boring," he said.

Orianne couldn't believe that she was honest about watching the movie. Sloan was visiting another base during the time the second Stars Wars movie was in the theatre. He wasn't gone long enough for her to move with him but she just simply never got around to seeing it with any of her friends. She wanted to see the third one because of her fascination with anything that belonged to a dark side and, after Cedarius and Cara joked with her, she figured she might as well catch it on television while it was being aired. What she couldn't believe more was Dave inviting himself and she didn't consider it rude—just that he would rather come with her to watch a movie than play poker with his friends.

Batista himself didn't know what he had just done. When she started to leave, he wanted to go with her. He wasn't interested in her—he had sworn off women. Even more, he had sworn off married women; it was just wrong. He was amazed at the transformation in her and he slightly felt guilty at spying on her and taking pleasure in watching her change where she was comfortable.

Orianne slid the keycard into the lock and pushed it open, holding it for Dave to come in. It was then that she realized that she only had a full bed in the room. "Have a seat anywhere you like—it's rather limited," she said. "I'm gonna get out of these jeans."

Taking a seat at the table, he surreptitiously watched her rifle through her suitcase and pull out some pajama bottoms and sweatshirt. She disappeared into the bathroom and shortly returned in the other clothes and with a layer of coldcream on her face. "This okay?" she asked, pointing at the cream, and he nodded his head. "Good, I'll be a mess tomorrow if I don't," she added and settled on the bed, flipping the television on. She then took the extra pillows on the bed and propped up her left leg. When she realized that she had done that in front of Dave, she quickly put her other leg up beside the left one. "That looks uncomfortable—get over here. It's a long movie," she said, patting the bed. While the blood was coursing through her veins at him being in her room, she knew she could control herself—she was married after all, even if it wasn't happily ever.

"You sure? I'm not exactly petite like you are," he said, hesitantly rising from the chair.

"Petite? Who are you kidding?" she replied, grabbing the small swell of her stomach that she had yet to be able to work off. "I'm five-nine and a half on a good day."

"Do you want me to tell you in inches how wide my chest is?"

_No, I can see that for myself_, she thought. "Shut up and put your feet up. I'll even share my pillows," she said, pointing at the pillows under her feet.

"I'm fine," he replied, carefully situating himself beside her on the bed.

Dave tried to concentrate on the movie but, during the slow parts, his mind began to drift to the woman beside him. He was amazed that Orianne didn't bother tidying up her room. Two pairs of shoes were askew by the closet, clothing was spilling out of her suitcase, and papers were haphazardly lying on the table beside her laptop and PDA. For being a military wife, he thoroughly expected everything to have a place and be in it. Today's choice of socks involved hot pink and lime green watermelons. However, he couldn't believe that she wore her coldcream in front of him. He hardly ever saw Gabrielle without her make-up. If she wore a cosmetic mask, it was at the spa. Sometimes he thought she wore her make-up to bed. By the time he was up in the morning, she was back from the gym, showered, and made up. None of his past girlfriends or women friends would be caught dead with a mask on in front of a man. She also talked during the movie—Gabrielle would have killed him if he had done that. Any time he saw a mistake or something just plain cheesy, he wanted to remark on it. She would always shush him and complain. However, he and Orianne were having a fit over the line "I truly, deeply love you" as the lovers in the movie were thinking they were about to meet their deaths together.

Sitting side by side on the bed, feet propped up on the same set of pillows, and their hands resting inches apart, neither knew that this innocent moment would spark an illicit affair.

"That movie would have been really boring without you," Orianne stated, clicking the television off with the remote.

"You are truly, deeply welcome."

"Oh, stop," she replied, jerking the pillow out from behind her and smacking him on the arm with it.

"We'll have to rent the third one sometime together," he said.

"I would have seen it in the theater but I hate going alone. It seems the only good things are on when Sloan's gone."

"We'll go see something tomorrow if you want."

Orianne was floored. He wanted to go see a movie with her? "Uh, yeah."

"It'll have to be a late show. That okay?"

"Yeah. It's a date then," she responded before she realized her poor choice of words. If they registered with Dave, his face didn't show it. However, they had. He inwardly cringed at the word 'date' but he knew she hardly meant it that way. It was simply a phrase and he didn't give it another thought.

TBC…


	7. All Glitz and Glamour

**_Chapter VII: All Glitz and Glamour_**

Orianne would have looked forward to the "date" with Dave that night but her day was absolutely ruined with the arrival of an e-mail from her husband. Sloan finally decided to use e-mail to contact her but it wasn't in the way his wife had hoped. She was downright pissed. He couldn't use the Internet for their correspondence until he needed to get forceful with her. She had stupidly told him about all the landmarks she had visited on her own time in each of the cities to which they had traveled. She included some pictures of her in various places to show him that she was having a good time without him and he accurately deduced that she had some unknown person off the street take the pictures of her. She only wanted him to see that she was enjoying her new job and he shouldn't worry about her. However, he didn't want her going out alone again and he was adamant about it. Any one of those people could have stolen her camera, robbed her, or even raped her. Ignoring how completely right Sloan was, Orianne almost immediately replied back to ask him how exactly he would stop her from sightseeing. Instead, to blow off steam, she called her brother, who didn't answer the phone. He was probably making his morning rounds before taking lunch with their father. She dashed off an e-mail to him, helping ease some of the angry tension in her body. Plus, she'd be having lunch with Cara soon. Despite the fact that she wouldn't tell her new friend about the issue, it would help take her mind off a things.

Dropping her cameras onto the bed after the show, she flipped open her laptop to see if Orrin had replied. While the notebook started up, she changed out of her "uniform" into a pair of jeans and into a teal scoopneck, sleeveless silk blouse that was decorated with sequins. She touched up her make-up and ran a brush through her now loose hair before the computer indicated that it was on and she had a new e-mail. It was indeed Orrin.

She sat down at the table and perused his reply. He agreed with her in that she was a grown woman who had been capable for half of her marriage of making it on her own. However, he wanted her to give Sloan some slack. He was thousands of miles away, fighting a dangerous battle (computer programming was hardly dangerous, she scoffed, even though she knew better), and he was worried about her when he couldn't be there to make sure she was indeed alright. That's not to mention that she was rubbing into his face all these new things she was doing and all these new places she was going without Sloan there to enjoy it with her. Irritated at Orrin's attitude and that he wasn't on her side, she thumbed her nose at the computer screen and hit the reply button as a knock sounded at the door. The photographer glanced at the clock at the screen and noticed that she was fifteen minutes late for when she and Dave agreed to meet for the movie.

"Just a minute," she called, hoping he didn't notice the anger in her voice. She cancelled the action and shut down the laptop before opening the door.

"Your face is red. Are you okay?" Dave asked instead of greeting her. She blew out a heavy breath but replied that it was nothing. "I've not known you long but I know you enough to know that _that _is not nothing."

"I'll tell you on the way to the movie," she replied, grabbing her wrap and her purse.

When they were in Dave's latest rental, Orianne blew off some steam as she explained the details of why she was so upset. "I can solve that," the wrestler surprisingly said. "Just tell him that we're hanging out together. Ric keeps telling me to get out. It's always better to see the sights with someone else and Sloan can't claim that you aren't safe with someone like me."

Orianne's mouth was agape and she quickly turned away to hide her surprise. Okay, so they had played poker a few times together and watched a movie together but did she know him enough for him to make this offer? "You don't have to do that," she demurred. "I'm sure traipsing about the city looking at old landmarks would be boring for a guy like you."

"A guy like me? What does that mean?"

"Well…" she began, wishing she had never made the statement. "You're all glitz and glamour and I'm sure you've got girls lined up around the block. I have no idea why you hang out with the guys when you could be at nightclubs. I mean, why hang out with a girl like me?"

"First, I'm not all glitz and glamour," he said, glancing at her while pulling his wallet out to pay the parking deck attendant. Dave sighed heavily and pulled into the first open space he found. "Second, I hang out with the guys because my girlfriend married another man." The mixed look of shock and embarrassment on Orianne's face made him feel as he should explain himself. He shouldn't have put it that way in the first place but he just blurted it out.

When Dave had finished explaining his sordid affair, she whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I've learned my lesson," he replied and they sat there in silence for a moment.

"Well, it looks like you just paid for us to sit here and talk," she said apologetically. "It seems we have missed the beginning of the movie. We'll just have to try again next week."

_"Why a girl like me?" _she had said earlier.He wondered that too while he cranked the car and put it in reverse. Yes, he was slightly attracted to her but they meant nothing because of her marital status. Maybe it was because he could be himself around her instead of having to be Dave Batista, World Heavyweight Champion—the role model at work, the character for the fans, the protégé of Ric Flair and Triple H, and the whatever the hell he was supposed to be for Gabrielle Dean.

"Where to now?" he asked.

"Some all night food joint?"

"Good enough for me."

Dave drove in silence and Orianne didn't contribute either. The wrestler was mentally working through her relationship with her husband while she was still fuming over her husband's and her brother's e-mails and pondering Dave's offer.

Batista didn't quite understand his new friend's marital relationship. She had said some things that made him wonder if the man was physically abusing her. Maybe her limp was a result of one of his tirades upon her. His ire rose at the thought of a man, especially a soldier, a man sworn to protect the American people, beating his wife. Glancing over at Orianne in the seat beside him, he began to fabricate bruises underneath the streetlights. His mind was playing tricks on him but even imagining the black and blue on her face made his blood boil. He tried to tell himself that it was none of his business what went on in the Anderson home but he could see Orianne cowering in the corner of their bedroom because she had no more room to run, her hands over her face while she tried not to flinch and sob as he flailed on her. She was not fragile or petite but it was obvious that she was not capable of protecting herself from someone bigger than she, especially with her injury.

Orianne noticed Dave visibly stiffen and she couldn't help but wonder what had bothered him. She racked her brain for something that she could have done but nothing came to her. The woman began to grow even more concerned when he said only a few cursory words to her as they parked in the front of all-night diner and headed inside. She wasn't physically frightened of him but she didn't want to make an enemy out of a new found friend…or be stranded in an unfamiliar city with no idea how to get back to her hotel.

Dave slid into the seat and picked up the menu on the table. He had said little to her because he knew the first thing out of his mouth would be regarding his fabricated scenario. He couldn't look at her either and stuck his nose in the laminated pages listing the restaurant's offerings to hopefully deter his thoughts and return to their earlier camaraderie. Sneaking a peak at her over the menu, he could sense that she had picked up on his mood.

"What can I get for you, sugah?" the waitress asked, catching Dave off-guard. He had been reliving his earlier scenario and hadn't noticed her come over.

"Oh, uh…" He hadn't read over the menu, using it only as a shield to keep from confronting Orianne about the awful truth in his mind. A glance down told him that nothing on it really fit his diet but, then again, his relationship "diet" didn't consist of going to a movie or dinner with the pretty little thing in the booth across from him. "This," he responded, pointing at the only picture of a burger on the plastic.

"And to drink?"

"Do you have sweet tea?"

"This _is_ the South, ain't it?" she drawled and grinned at him in a way she must have thought seductive. To him, the bottom heavy woman with a front tooth missing and enough mascara to concern Tammy Faye Baker was anything but sensual. He grimaced to himself but nodded to her.

Dave was disappointed to realize that the Tammy Faye wannabe had already taken Orianne's order. He needed more time and couldn't hide behind his menu anymore. A small booklet of desserts was also on the table and he reached for it to screen himself from her. Furtive glances told him that she too was trying to find something to focus on. She was doing little to hide her frown that showed slight fear and concern. The air had become thick between them and he could find nothing to say to her to ease the tension.

The server came back and set Orianne's iced water down in front of her. She then slid the tea across the table to him, dipping unnecessarily low to show off her cleavage. Dave muttered his thanks but didn't look at her. The waitress realized that she was getting nowhere. She had assumed they were a couple from the rock on the woman's hand and how cute they looked together but that they had come to the end of the road by the way they were acting. She sensed a fight and hoped that the woman would storm out and leave the hottest man she had laid eyes on in the booth for her to rescue. It looked liked it hardly mattered as he wouldn't even meet her eyes. When he was left alone, she might try again.

When the server had disappeared, Orianne finally found the courage to ask Dave what was wrong. At the same time, he blurted out, "Does Sloan beat you?"

"What?" she calmly asked, wanting to be sure she heard the question right.

"Does your husband physically abuse you?" he asked, a little slower this time.

"What would give you that idea?" Orianne blushed deeply and took a sip of cold water, hoping it would cool off her face by some unnatural transference.

He looked down at the table and tried to put his words together carefully. She obviously worked hard to hide her limp and he didn't want to embarrass her even more than what he had. "There were some things you said about him that made me wonder. He seems like such a dominating person in the way he treats you and…" he trailed off, losing words to explain his fabrication.

"Wow," she replied, rubbing a hand over her face. This was a new one. She had never known anyone to accuse Sloan of spousal abuse. Even more, she couldn't figure out why Dave Batista was so concerned about _her. _

"I'm sorry," he quickly apologized, unsure of how to interpret her one word response. He really liked her and offending her was the last thing he wanted to do but her safety was first on his mind.

"Sloan does not abuse me," she bluntly stated.

"Then what is it? What makes you talk like he's your over protective, abusive father rather than a loving husband?"

"You don't want to hear about the problems in my marriage. I shouldn't have said anything about our fight in the first place," she replied, waving him off.

"It's not like you offered. I asked first. And I will listen to anything you have to say."

"I…" she began but stopped. How does a wife tell a man that she finds amazingly attractive about her failing marriage? She then started from the beginning. "I met Sloan when I got permission to do a photo collage on the closest Air Force base to the college."

_Sloan Patrick Anderson was a little annoyed to be assigned to the junior co-ed who wanted to photograph permissible areas of the base. His job was take her on a tour and explain what she could and couldn't take pictures of. He would rather peel potatoes than deal with a liberal college brat who was probably here to deride the military. Instead he found a fresh-faced twenty year old dressed in a conservative navy blue pants suit with an American flag lapel. She was extremely polite but bouncing with energy. She listened intently to everything he had to say and responded with maturity beyond her years. Before the tour was over, he no longer saw a young college girl but a budding photo journalist with which he was now smitten._

_Orianne had an affinity for older men, something a little unusual for a girl her age. She was drawn to the likes of Robert Redford, Paul Newman, Ricardo Montalban, Sean Connery, Robert Urich… They weren't old men but definitely her senior by some years. Of course, she would take notice of a man fifteen years older than she. His hair was just beginning to gray at the temples prematurely, giving him that distinguished look she loved in men. Plus, he was a man in uniform. That didn't help at all when he flashed her a perfect white smile. He wouldn't bowl women over with his looks but he had more charisma in his pinky finger than she had in all her body. When he escorted her back to her car, she found herself hard pressed to demurely grant his request to see her when he had some leave time in two weeks instead of gleefully yelping, "YES!"_

_And so began their courtship. They would drive back and forth between Tuscaloosa and Montgomery depending upon who had the more leisure time available. Within a year, Sloan had popped the question. Orianne hardly took the time to weigh the issue of being a military wife when she flung herself into his arms and answered "yes." She didn't take the time at all to consider the sacrifices that had to be made to be his wife as the stars in her eyes clouded all other concerns. All she knew was that she was in love and love would conquer all._

_Their marital problems didn't stem from just from the two of them growing apart. It ran much deeper. Sloan promised he would retire as soon as he could from the Air Force. He could easily be employed in the burgeoning world of software technology and make a very promising salary. Year after year, he put it off. Then suddenly, the tragedy of September 11, 2001, hit and he slowly became a different man. When America went to war with Iraq in March of 2003, Orianne and Sloan had their first major, knock-down-drag-out fight. Looking back, she realized that the man she fought with on that day was not the same one she married._

_On the day war was declared, Orianne, the sensible pacifist—she believed war should be the last possible resort but understood that a nation had to have a military force to survive—lashed out at the president for being an arrogant asshole, America for being dumb idiots when renaming all things French with "Freedom" and pouring out French wine, and for this war having nothing to do with America's freedom. Underneath, she was deathly terrified that her husband would be sent overseas to fight a war she did not support. Sloan argued with her, pointing out how that this was a preemptive war regarding America's freedom, that it was the president's duty to protect his county, that the people of Iraq deserved the same freedom as Americans, and that the French had their heads so far up their own butts that they couldn't see how humanitarian we were being by removing a terrorist dictator from power. He even went as far as to call her unpatriotic for her remarks. "I can't believe I'm married to someone who doesn't share patriotism for our own country," he had said. Her response was that blindness didn't constitute patriotism._

_Sloan actually laid hands on her at that. He grabbed her by the arms and violently pulled her close. "Do not ever demean what I do," he growled in her face before letting her go and stalking off. Hours later, he came back home, catching her in the shower. When he saw the marks he had left on her upper arms, he profusely apologized. He had agreed that they should agree to disagree and that it might not be something they should discuss. Orianne was glad for the apology and the agreement to disagree but she couldn't fathom never talking to her husband about anything. She acquiesced anyhow and their relationship almost returned to the point of before the blow-up. They even began to discuss the war, albeit warily and only to exchange factual information about it. She was not angry that he believed those things—everyone was entitled to their opinion. It was when those opinions disrupted a marriage that it became a problem._

_By the time Sloan had been home for only a couple of months after his first deployment to Iraq, Orianne realized that he had turned from a very moderate person on all issues, similar to she, into a fundamental conservative, even in his religious beliefs. She had stopped attending church with him because she was tired of the pulpit being turned into a political platform. According to Sloan, no one could criticize the president or the war. God was on America's side. Anybody who believed different than he was a flaming liberal. The future of America relied solely on the extinguishment of terrorism and a return to conservative values. Once again, he was entitled to his opinions. They were, after all, from two different generations by being fifteen years apart. Of course they would have major religious and political differences. She had not been to Iraq in the midst of the war, and she knew couldn't even begin to understand what he had been through. But she still had to ask about his promise to her. In casually mentioning that he had planned to retire years ago, he replied to her that his calling was to be a soldier and when he could sleep at night knowing his family was safe, he would then retire. She wanted to know why everyone else came before her and his was response was that he was putting his family first by selfishly going out there to protect them and end the danger they were in._

_When Sloan was called up again, Orianne turned in on herself. He assumed it was because she was depressed over him leaving for a year and her worry that he would be killed overseas. Of course that was part of it. She loved him, loved him with all her heart but he wasn't who she had married. He was going to leave her with this empty hole in her spirit, longing for the man she had fallen head over heels for nine years ago. She attempted to tell him how she was feeling but he shut her down each time, finding a way to change the topic of their conversation. He was absolutely clueless._

_As Orianne hugged her husband for the last time before his deployment, she refused to kiss him for the first time. She didn't want to send him off this way but she couldn't let it go on for another year. "Sloan," she said with a sigh, "you have to make a choice. It's either me or America." His mouth dropped open. "I cannot and will not sit second to your lofty ideals that do not include me. I will not play second fiddle any longer. When you come back home, you better have made your decision."_

"_We'll talk more about this later," he said, drawing her close and kissing her unresponsive lips. He never brought the issue up again and Orianne made no plans to do so either. This was his choice, not hers. She wanted a home, a home to call her own instead of visit for a year, and she was going to get it._

"And that's kind of it," she finished. "Kind of" was the key. There were still more issues between them that she was not comfortable sharing with Dave Batista, no matter how much he was interested in being her friend or how good of a listener he was.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Please don't apologize. I'm so tired of people apologizing for him being away and what I have to go through alone."

"I was apologizing because I know what it feels like to have a broken heart and to feel alone. This is the most unhappy I have ever been in my life and it sounds like the same for you. I sympathize. I'm sorry that you have to feel the same way in some respects that I do."

Orianne sipped the last of the coffee in the mug the server had brought half way through her story. They had finished eating a long while back, their plates were cleared, and the waitress had left the coffee pot on the table instead of repeatedly coming over to refill their cups. She sighed heavily and pushed the cup away.

"That must have exhausted you. Let's get you back to the hotel," Dave replied, draining the last of his coffee as well.

"That would be nice."

"Are you going to be alright alone tonight?"

"I've been doing this for a long time now," Orianne answered, waving him off. "I'll be fine."

"I didn't mean it that way. I didn't want to emotionally drain you and then send you away," he relied, leaning forward and holding her gaze.

"Thank you, Dave. I really mean that."

He blushed under his tan. "For what?"

"For letting me vent. I haven't been able to tell anyone this. My family's so besotted with Sloan, I couldn't say a bad word against him to them…and for being so concerned about it," she answered, putting a hand over his.

"You are very welcome," he replied, covering hers with his other hand. She had to force herself to breathe so as not to give away the shivers that coursed through her body at his touch. "Thanks for letting _me_ vent about Gabrielle."

"You definitely haven't told me a smidgen about the two of y'all compared to my gushing about my whole relationship with my husband. I owe you."

"Maybe I'll cash in on that some time," he smiled and snatched the tab away from her before she could locate her purse.

* * *

Sloan checked his e-mail first thing in the morning, expecting a vehement reply back from his wife. As she sipped her last cup of coffee for the night, he raised his first, steaming mug to his lips. Maybe he had gone too far in his tone towards her but he had to protect her the best he could from where he was. He was head of the household, protector of their home. He had come to realize that more now than ever. While Orianne had balked at the terminology, he knew that it would only change their own relationship in small ways. She had dutifully followed him on each of his assignments. They had lived in seven different places in seven years and he had lost count of how much time he had spent away visiting and supervising training at other bases, domestic and overseas. She packed up their belongings with no complaints, agreeing to put off her dream of opening her own studio specializing in sports photography. Eventually, she quit talking about the studio and he would surprise her one day with one attached to the house so she could stay home with their children and still have her hobby. They had only had one major rift in their marriage. He let her get the upper hand of him and that wouldn't happen again, just like she tried to do when he was deployed. He had intentionally not discussed her last words to him. She was only angry at him having to go away and the time apart would cool her off. 

TBC…


	8. Collecting on Favors

_**Chapter VIII: Collecting on Favors**_

The rain drummed hard against the sliding glass doors of the hotel room's balcony. Gusts of wind rattled them as lightning streaked across the sky. At ten in the morning on what should have been a resplendent Sunday, the gray cloud cover was so thick that it seemed to be about eight in the evening. "It looks like the rain has set in for the weekend," Orianne said with a sigh and tossed aside the remote control after turning off the Weather Channel. "No Sea World today," she added despondently. The photographer was looking forward to trying out a new lens and experimenting with water and aquarium shots. Dave had agreed to go 'play with the fishies' with her. She had wondered if there was a double entendre in that.

Dave nodded, his lips pursed in thought as he chewed the inside of his cheek. "Well, it looks like we'll have to entertain ourselves since there's absolutely nothing on television."

"It's a shame that we've already done a movie this weekend but, then again, I don't think I'd go out in this anyhow."

"We could always break in the new deck of cards you owe Rob."

Orianne chuckled and began clearing off the small table. "You owe me for forking out the money for them because it was all your fault."

The weekend had been fairly uneventful thus far with two exceptions. Friday night, she almost got caught by Randy Orton when she ventured away from the ring alone without Cara for a restroom break. The photographer had learned very quickly that Orton wouldn't approach her with the blonde around but the technician couldn't get away. After slinking around for about ten minutes backstage and grabbing Lita as an excuse to avoid talking to him, she lost Orton and got back in time for the house show to start. She almost told Dave about the younger wrestler and his stalking her but she was afraid he would interpret it the wrong way since they were supposedly best friends. The night was going too well to ruin, the tension of the previous weekend gone. She brushed aside a brief moment in the darkened theatre when she thought that Dave was going to kiss her. It was something that Dave would never do nor would she let him. Orianne had simply misconstrued the moment and she embarrassingly pushed it to the back of her mind.

The second exception, the one that she was laughing about now, was the photographer's big poker win last night. She was not a fantastic poker player but could hold her own against other amateur players. On her sixth night of playing with the guys, Orianne purely got lucky and won and Dave Batista was the loser. She had been sitting with her back to open balcony doors for the last hand. Upon losing first, Dave was sent out for more ice and Orianne claimed his chair beside hers at the others' insistence. He gave her that delectable smile that said "I'll get you back" and took the guys' teasing and he settled in her seat. When she beat out Shawn Michaels, Orianne clambered across the table to pull the large pile of chips, cards included, across the table. As she began to sit down, Dave jerked the chair out from under her, sending the cards and chips flying. They had managed to recover all the chips but one. The cards were less fortunate. The Queen of Hearts and the Ace of Spades, having flown out the balcony doors, had to be fished out of the pool. Somehow, Orianne good-naturedly got the blame, requiring her to purchase a new deck.

"I'll pay you for the deck of cards if that's what I have to do for you for losing," Dave offered.

"Oh, no, I have other things planned," she replied with a facetious grin.

"Well, it is awful romantic with the storm and we _are _all alone," he suggestively replied with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"In your dreams," she responded with a laugh. _No, _Orianne thought, _in **my **dreams and every other woman's. _

"What shall we play?" Dave asked, shuffling the cards.

"Just playing cards is boring. Let's add another element," she deviously smiled. He loved that smile—it was the essence of her personality. He had come to the conclusion after last week's confession that she hardly got the chance to display that side of herself often.

"Do I want to hear this?"

She nodded with that sly grin again. "Let's play Speed. It's quick and then whoever wins gets to ask any question they want and the other person _has _to answer it."

Dave seemed to think through this but he was eagerly willing. This could get interesting. "Deal it, baby."

Speed might not have been the best choice for Dave as Orianne's hands were much smaller and she could flip the cards out much quicker underneath his own. But it was worth the laughs over the mad shuffle to discard them. The black-haired woman won first and she leaned back in her chair and carefully pondered her first question.

"What do you wear under your wrestling trunks?" It was something she had wondered since she first started watching wrestling and especially after she got her first glimpse of Kurt Angle's shining buttcheeks. It was meant to be teasingly suggestive but also the only way she would probably ever find out the truth.

"Me? Or generally what wrestlers wear?"

"I don't know," she answered with a shrug of her shoulders. "You?"

"Well, they're double-lined for a reason but you won't catch me without my blue cup."

"_Blue?_"

"One question per win," he chided with a smirk.

"Fine," Orianne huffed but then smiled. "Deal the cards." She won again. "Blue?"

"Blue underwear is lucky for me." She started to form another question but he shook his head. "Next game." Eventually, the woman dragged out of him that he had been wearing blue underwear the day he aced his last exam to graduate from college, when he met Gabrielle, when he got the news he was being offered an OVW contract, and the day he found out he would be winning the Heavyweight belt. The last only solidified his prior decision to wear a blue athletic supporter.

Orianne also asked less intrusive questions, her curiosity now satisfied, finding out that he had one sister, Dana, and one brother, Derek, and one niece and two nephews that he dearly loved. He was a momma's boy but wouldn't admit it and he respected his father, the son of a poor Greek immigrant, most in the world. He had a degree in sports medicine from the University of Nebraska and his initial plan was to become a sports trainer. However, he found he had a natural talent and the discipline to be a bodybuilder. Between competitions, he worked in gyms as a personal fitness trainer until he was discovered by a scout and the rest was history. The physicality of wrestling was the initial draw as he reveled in being able to throw guys around like in football, which he played in high school and college, and have an outlet for his immense power but without all the competition and nitpicky rules. The wrestler found the rush absolutely exhilarating of making an entrance to the ring among the roars of the crowds. "It's almost orgasmic," he explained as she hung on his every word. He was a charismatic speaker but she had to lower her head and deal the cards again to hide the pink creeping up her neck and cheeks at his analogy to sex. At first, he was hesitant because he didn't want to talk on the microphone. He was shyer than most would think, something Orianne had observed anyhow. It was only around his closest friends that he opened up, making the woman wonder why he was so open with _her_.

Dave dug the basics out of her about her family. The question that he wanted to ask the most, besides about her injury, was about her name. Because her twin brother was originally thought to be a sole son, his name had been settled on as Orrin Isaac after their great-grandfathers. As a surprise, sarcasm intended, her name had to conform to his. Her parents had spent hours searching for something to complement his and then one evening in the Women's Missionary Union meeting, her mother learned of an Alabaman missionary named Orianne from the early 1800s and so she became Orianne Isabelle. Dave found out that herfavorite word was "epiphany" just for the way it sounded and the word she hated most was "fuck" because it was the epitome of crass and crude. He admitted he liked the word "quintessential" for the same reason as her favorite word and hated "lugubrious" because it sounded so nasty.

The wrestler prodded deeper about her love for taking pictures. Orianne latched onto photography in her early teens. "I just wasn't good at sports," she said with a shrug. But she loved them anyhow and photography was the closest she could become to being an athlete. She studied sports and the art of photography together. In classes at the University of Alabama, her teachers couldn't understand her balking at being required to take pictures of anything that didn't move. The photographer loved the energy of moving objects, particularly the human body. She became especially skilled at being able to capture motion on paper and make it stand still for that one frame.

The handsome wrestler then asked her a question that threw her off. "Tell me one thing that nobody knows about you," he said with a mischievous grin.

"Well, I can back up a horse-trailer into a parking spot. That's quite possibly one of the hardest vehicles to handle," Orianne answered matter-of-factly.

"What are you doing driving a horse-trailer?" he asked, distracted from the original intent of the question.

"My family didn't just raise horses. We were professional rodeo riders too. I was once Miss Wagon Train." Dave couldn't contain the laughter that bubbled up. "Don't laugh," Orianne protested and slapped his arm. "In my hometown, that's like being homecoming queen." However, she left out that it was a sympathetic vote after she finally left her wheel-chair behind and learned to ride again. "That's not to mention I was quite the barrel racer at age twelve."

"Why did you quit?"

"The rodeo wasn't where I wanted to be. I just wanted to take pictures of it," she answered with a lie.

Dave saw the shadow pass over her face and decided not to push his curiosity any farther. "When I asked for you to tell me something nobody knows about you, I meant something that not even your husband knows."

"I illegally bartended for frat parties in college."

"Sloan doesn't know?"

"Well," she slowly began, "he doesn't know that I did it for three years before I turned twenty-one. He thought I had a license my last year." One of the frat members who was a sweetheart in the sister sorority took her under his wing when they found out they were sixth cousins and he taught her everything he knew. Ethan had been in Hollywood pulling down hundred dollar tips for several years now.

"I thought you didn't drink," Dave replied before he could stop himself, even though it was more of a question. When the guys mixed drinks or brought beer to their poker nights, she always politely refused and nobody pushed her.

"You don't have to be a drinker to be a bartender but I don't drink because Sloan asked me not to. I got completely bombed at the last frat party my sorority attended—I unwisely tried that whole funnel thing—and he very sternly told me that an officer's wife would never do such a thing." She stopped and sighed. She did have a tendency to go over board and, after Sloan's initial reaction, he apologized and then pointed out that penchant. It was just best if she stayed away from alcohol and promised not to drink again without him, which meant nothing because he didn't drink. "It was three months before our wedding and I was so in love I would have agreed to walk backward for the rest of my life."

"Quit getting me sidetracked. What's that one secret thing you've harbored in your heart? Your sorority knows all about your illegal exploits. What is something that only _you _know?" Dave asked, softly poking a finger into her shoulder.

"You sound like a romance novel," she said with a laugh before contemplatively chewing the inside of her mouth. "Besides wanting to sleep with you?" the woman cheekily asked. By saying that, she hadn't truly lied. Forgetting that she was married, she definitely wanted to get him in bed even though it would never happen. He would hardly be interested in her. "Well…ever since I started watching wrestling, I wanted to be a diva. I want to wear those sexy outfits, have a hot wrestler fight over me…" Orianne sucked in her bottom lip as she imagined the scene with Batista. "Anyhow," she suddenly said, snapping out of her fantasy. "Another round?"

"Um, yeah," Dave replied, mentally shaking himself. He was picturing her in a sexy outfit as well and his body was reacting to the mental image in a disturbing manner. "So, uh, have you decided on your favor from me yet?"

"No, but I have an idea," she said with a leering grin.

"Wanna give me a hint," he queried, shifting in the seat to attempt to get more comfortable after the mental picture of her in something Torrie Wilson would wear.

"Nope," she replied as she laid the last card face down.

* * *

Friday night poker next week yielded no earned or owed favors for Dave or Orianne. However, the black-haired woman decided to cash in on her favor from the wrestler. Their friendship would end one day—she was sure of it because they were on the opposite ends of the spectrum. Therefore, she would claim something she had wanted since the first time she saw Kevin Nash jackknife powerbomb another wrestler. 

"I want you to powerbomb me," Orianne stated as she stood in front of him in her hotel room after everyone had cleared out after the game.

"What?" he asked, his jaw dropping open.

"I-want-_you-_to-pow-wer-bomb-_me_," she enunciated.

"We can't just march up to ring and me throw you on the mat. I would hurt you," he replied, holding out his hands as if to excuse himself. It never crossed his mind to just simply refuse and ask her to choose something else.

"I've got it all figured out," the woman excitedly replied. "We'll pull the mattresses off the bed and stack them on the floor. The ceiling's high enough if you don't do that thing where you pick the guys up by their underwear before throwing them down."

"There's no room for me to sit down and that floor would hurt," he said to make excuses.

"This from a guy who blades and takes chair shots," Orianne huffed and rolled her eyes. "Besides," she continued more directly, "I said powerbomb, not _sit-down _powerbomb. It's so easy."

He shook his head as she clapped her hands together and held them out waiting for an answer. "I don't know."

"Get over yourself, wuss. It's not like you can throw me full force in a room this size." He slowly shook his head, still indecisive. Her response was to fold her arms across her chest and reply, "Don't make me tell the guys you won't do my favor. You know it's a condition of playing."

"Alright," he replied. "Why do you want this anyhow?"

"My dad use to twirl me up when I was little but instead of throwing me, he would just flip me on over. As a kid, it was better than Six Flags. With your sheer power," she gestured at his shoulders, "it's got to be even better than that."

Batista shook his head with an amused smile and reached for the mattress of one double bed while she began to drag the mattress off the other. He helped her to stack one on top of the other and situate them in the best possible position in the room. "Alright, are you ready?"

"Oh, yes, definitely," she excitedly replied, rubbing her hands together. "What do you what me to do?"

"Well, after I get you where I've always wanted you—between my legs—"

"How did you know that was my ulterior motive?" Orianne asked with a laugh and then licked her lips.

He inwardly groaned at the action and hoped that she wouldn't notice his reaction when she did put her head between his thighs. What was worse was the fact that he had found himself aroused by her twice in two weeks and couldn't explain it. It could only mean that since he wasn't regularly getting laid by his girlfriend—he couldn't believe it had been five months since he and Gabrielle last sleep together—he was simply having normal reactions to anything suggestive.

"Just get over here and bend over. Do you want me to jerk you in…you know, like in the ring?"

"I want it all," she replied with a twinkle in her eyes and then bent at the waist.

"Keep your legs stiff until I roll you up. Everything else will happen so fast, you won't have to worry about form and you hardly have to worry about protection from the mat."

Orianne turned her head sideways and glanced up at him. "Are we gonna do this or are you gonna talk all day?" she cheekily asked.

"You asked for it," he replied and thrust her shoulders up against his thighs.

She was already having trouble breathing and this stopped her lungs in anticipation. Her legs were growing numb from excitement and from the knowledge that she was between his legs. Her favorite part of a man was his thighs and Dave Batista had some to die for. Instinctively she grasped them, hardly having time for her brain to register what she was doing as he slapped her one good time on the butt and then rolled her up. Her world turned upside down and her eyes tried to focus during the brief pause at the top but then she was flying through the air and bouncing off the mattresses. There wasn't enough cushion and the air rushed out of her lungs in a grunt. The woman lay there unmoving as all the feeling began to slowly creep back into her limbs and her eyes finally began to focus.

"Orianne?" Dave asked. It was the second time he called her name but she hadn't heard him the first. "Orianne?" The wrestler snapped his fingers in front of her face and she finally directed her gaze toward him.

"That was awesome. Can we do it again?" she huskily breathed.

"No way. You didn't specify more than once," Dave answered, standing over and watching her put a hand to her chest. "Besides, I don't think you could handle another. Let me help you up."

He held out his hand to her but she grabbed it with both hands and jerked down. Completely caught off guard, he tumbled forward, limbs flailing to keep his body from landing on her. She scooted over to make room for him on the bed and patted the place beside her where he was sprawled half on and half off the mattress. "Is it always like that?"

"I've never asked the guys I've done it too and there's only one wrestler who can do that to me and he's in TNA," Dave answered, as he situated himself beside her. "I imagine it's something you either get used to or don't want to do again 'cause that mat isn't as comfortable as this bed."

With their arms and legs touching all the way down, Orianne realized she had made an unwise choice in gesturing for him to lie beside her on the small bed. She thought too quickly of what it was like to feel his thighs against her shoulders and her hands upon the hard flesh. The photographer had lusted after those thighs on numerous occasions but it was hardly a concern then because she knew she'd never get this close. "Well, I think I'll be alright now. Seriously, you can help me up now."

With an inward sigh of disappointment, Dave rose from the bed and held out his hand to her. She took it this time and pulled herself up with his assistance. He then helped her put the mattresses back and excused himself for the night, having caught on to the tension between the two and figuring it was safer for him to leave this late at night.

* * *

At first, Orianne thought this was the worse thing that could happen to her—Dave had won at poker Sunday night and she had lost. After what she had made him do two nights before, she was extremely worried about what he would require of her. When Flair had asked if Dave had indeed done her favor—they all kept track to keep everyone honest—she answered that he had indeed as his eyes went wide and the pulse quickened in his throat. He didn't want to admit the unconventional request or the unconventional relationship they had found themselves in. As far he knew, no one knew how much time they had spent together in the past month. The photographer announced that she had made him carry her luggage from the hotel to the airport last Monday. It would hardly be that easy for her though. She only had to wait one day before he collected. 

"Orianne," Dave breathlessly called as he caught her coming into the arena and heading for the lockerroom.

"What? What's wrong?" she asked, her breath quickening in fear. They didn't talk at the arena even though it wasn't something they had agreed upon. It wasn't that they were ashamed of each other—although it would be more like him embarrassed of her, she thought—but that they weren't exactly the two most likely people to become friends. Dave never approached her because he didn't want Randy to know what terms they were on and Orianne didn't want to give anyone the wrong idea about the two of them. They hadn't encountered anyone while they were out in the cities they visited and both assumed, separately, they'd cross that bridge when it happened. The situation was odd in that they found the relationship comfortable.

"I want to collect my favor."

"Now? Here?" she asked, glancing around wildly.

"It's like this," Dave began. Only two of the three requisite bimbos showed up that the director had hired for a vignette with him and Triple H. The third one was stuck at the hotel puking her guts out from food poisoning. From the looks of the other two, he was surprised that she had eaten in the first place. McMahon was in an already irate mood. He wanted three unknown women—not two, not one. Any other day and he might have just let it go with two but someone had put a particularly irritating burr under his saddle and he yelled at the director to find him another anonymous woman. Dave had the solution and promised the man that he knew the perfect person for the job.

"Dave, I can't do that!" she exclaimed.

"Of course you can. Turn out that Orianne charm that you use with me," he persuaded before dropping his voice and whispering in her ear. "It's your secret wish."

"Okay," the photographer sighed. "But how do you expect me to turn into a diva looking like this?" She gestured at her jeans and the t-shirt touting Summer Slam.

"I talked to Maria and Lita and they're gonna take care of you."

Orianne resisted the urge to yell "What!" She had a minimal relationship with the women wrestlers and the divas and that was only because she needed a locker to stow away the various cases and camera equipment not necessary ringside. She and Lita were what one could call friends and Maria _thought _that she and Orianne were friends. Maria was an outcast like Lita because she was as dense as her character was portrayed. Orianne made the mistake of opening up a conversation with the woman on a day she needed a listening ear and the photographer wanted to pass off some prints. As bad as Orianne felt for her, she just couldn't tolerate the interviewer—before or after she met her.

"We'll be ready as soon as you're ready. Get going," he ordered and swatted her on the butt to get her going after he quickly glanced around to make sure no one was looking.

The hand-print on her behind burned, not from pain, but from the searing feel of his hand on her cheek. She had just about been able to put the thought out of her mind from when he had done the same thing days earlier. _What the hell am I doing?_ she thought as she scurried down the hall. The question wasn't just about her doing this vignette for Batista, which had the crap scared out of her, but about how she was letting her feelings take over for a man who was merely interested in her as a good friend.

"Oh, good, you're here," Lita exclaimed, meeting Orianne at the door. "We've managed to scrounge up some clothes for you." The redhead tugged the photographer to the other side of the divided locker room where Maria was seated on a bench and rifling through a large make-up case.

TBC…

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Very quickly--I know I've referenced a past injury of Orianne's but I just wanted y'all to know that it is not some tragedy that Dave must save her from. I know that that can sometimes be a big turn-off for readers. It's just a part of her character that makes her who she is, which is why I haven't explained it yet (but I will). 


	9. Rent A Diva

**Author's Notes: **I know I promised many of you a new chapter on Sunday. My sincerest apologies but I didn't see any point in posting if ff dot net is holding chapter alerts hostage. ; ) Look for a new chapter around Saturday or Sunday unless chapter alerts go MIA again.

Very quickly, while I have you here, a big thanks to WandaXmaximoff for reading this story for me and giving me her insights. Y'all, go read her story "A Fine Line Between Love and Hate." Cheryl "Cherry" Leigh (formerly Ellis) is in it!

_**

* * *

Chapter IX: Rent-A-Diva **_

Maria held up a lipstick tube and squinted at Orianne's face where she stood a yard away, still in a panic over Dave's request. "Perfect color. That's what I thought," the brunette said and turned back to her case.

"I borrowed this from Trish," Lita began, holding out a very short pink skirt, but then she trailed off at the severe shakes of the black-haired woman's head. "You gotta wear this kind of stuff for the vignette."

"I…well…" The thought had hardly crossed her mind that she may have to show her scars but there was no choice now. She wouldn't let her pride disappoint Dave. "I was in an accident as a kid and I have these really bad scars on my knee. I've never seen a diva or any of the women show scars."

"Hmm…let me see."

Orianne swallowed hard because she had lied to an extent. Scars crossed her ankle, the outside of her calf, her knee, parts of her thigh, and her hip. She turned her ankle away from Lita and pulled up her jeans leg to show the inside of her knee. The redhead looked down on top of it. "That's nothing," she said, "but I'm sure McMahon won't be happy. What'd you think, Maria?"

The brunette had been watching as well, hardly hiding her curiosity. Orianne was torn between hating her for wanting to see and being grateful that she was helping. Maria pursed her lips in thought. "I guess you could have my pants for tonight. I haven't put them on yet because they're so hot," she offered and then pulled out a pair of black leather pants on a hanger from the cubicle in front of her. The photographer resisted the urge to ask if they had been laundered. "They're a bit loose on me so I'm sure they'll fit you."

"Thanks," Orianne sarcastically muttered under her breath. She hurriedly shucked out of her pants and began the arduous process of pulling the leather ones on. It was obvious the two women were some dress sizes apart and she had to make the decision to go commando or show national television her pantyline. As if Maria could sense what she was thinking, the diva stated, "I haven't worn them since I got them cleaned." Orianne nodded and began pulling them up her thighs, her right side turned to the other two so they couldn't see the lingering results of an almost seventeen year old disaster. Finally, she squeezed into them and began some moving around to test their elasticity, which was remarkable for the fit.

"You look great!" Lita exclaimed and steered Orianne towards the full-length mirror. _What illusions_, the black-headed woman thought as she admired what appeared to be tight thighs, a butt you could bounce a quarter off of, and a flat stomach. "I bring two shirts to every show with me because you never know what can happen in the ring. Let's get these on you and then you can try the blouse on."

Orianne hardly managed to hide the surprise when she held up the adhesive bra cups. The last person to see her this naked was her husband and, before that, her mother, and now she was bare to the waist, holding her own breasts up while Lita affixed the molded cups to the undersides of them. "Give them a test bounce," the redhead ordered. _Dave Batista, I will kill you when I'm through here_, Orianne thought and jiggled her boobs. Next, the wrestler helped her into a top that draped over her neck and down her chest with the neckline open to her bellybutton before the material attached to a waistband.

Maria then took her turn, pulling off the handkerchief holding the photographer's hair back and then beginning to curl the front layers back out of her eyes. Orianne didn't bother to tell her the curl wouldn't hold until time to film. The diva then ordered her to close her eyes and went to work, to which the result was absolutely amazing. The blue glitter shadow and the liner round her eyes brought out the blue in them rather than making the color appear darker. The luscious pink lipstick plumped her lips and made them appear pouty. Orianne was in awe. "And the finishing touch," she said and affixed a glittering star to her bellybutton. "Now everybody'll think you have a bellybutton ring. I'm too chicken myself to do it for real."

"Y'all are so good," Orianne said breathlessly as she stared at herself in mirror before she realized the entire women's locker room was looking at her. She blushed deeply and turned around as the group seconded her statement.

"They'll be hiring you next as a diva," Candace Michelle amiably commented but Orianne felt like it wasn't an altruistic compliment.

"Here, you can wear these," Torrie Wilson offered, holding out a pair of silver high heels. Judging from Torrie's height, her shoe size was the closest to Orianne's.

The photographer swallowed hard and took them from her. "I'll put them on when I get there. Don't want to trip before I get there and mess up all that you've done for me," she gushed. It wasn't a lie but the concern lay in the fact that she couldn't walk very well in heels because her ankle didn't have the full range of mobility needed to do so. She slipped her loafers on and thanked them again. "Wish me luck," she said and pushed open the door with a deep breath.

Orianne turned heads as she made her way for the staging area for this particular vignette. The one head she never wanted to turn caught sight of her and hurried to catch up. She had no idea he had followed her until after the filming when she noticed Randy Orton watching her.

Dave Batista sucked in his breath when he first saw her. He almost couldn't believe she was the same woman. "Wow," he said, reaching for her hand and turning her around. He was thankful for the long suit jacket that was hiding the tightening his pants. "Mr. McMahon, Hunter, our stand-in diva for the night," Dave said and gestured toward her. Orianne held her breath as she met the chairman for the first time. He had never approached her and she preferred it that way. She didn't handle intimidating men very well. As to Triple H, she had been introduced to him by Ric Flair when Hunter had approached him at the hotel while she and Ric were setting up a time and room for a poker night recently.

Vince looked at her for a moment, completely unaware as to her identity. He mentally shrugged it off and then announced, "Let's get this done."

The other two women stepped forward quickly and Vince put them on either side of Hunter, who was now seated on a couch. "You," he said pointing at Orianne, "I want you to practically lay on her." Orianne didn't know this would involve girl-on-girl when she signed up for it. She took careful steps toward the couch and sat down on it by one of the blonde beauties and considered how she was supposed to do this. "No, wait," McMahon interrupted, "between his legs. Sit on the floor between his legs."

She sent a surreptitious glare towards Batista but then slipped to the floor where she tentatively laid an arm on one of the thighs she admired the second most. "Nothing down there bites, sweetheart, unless you want it to," Hunter stated matter-of-factly.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied in the same tone.

"Now, Batista and Hunter here are going to have some words over who's the better man, who's got the bigger balls, so forth. Dave here will cue you three and you get up and the two of you flank him and you," he pointed at Orianne again, "pick a side and play with his tie or something."

The women nodded and the director called for action. This was the role of a lifetime for her, something she truly secretly wanted to do, so she began to play it up. The photographer rubbed her hand up and down the top of Hunter's thigh while he and Dave exchanged words. Upon their cue, the two women on the couch rose and then Orianne carefully stood, giving Triple H a shrug and stating, "Sorry." She sashayed over to Dave, which was easier to do to keep from giving away her limp, and then ran a hand up his chest to his face and caressed it before reaching down to twirl his tie.

"Well, we know who's the better man in this department, huh?" Dave said, looking down at Orianne lasciviously where she clung to his body. He ran a hand up her bare back and into her hair, the first time he had touched it. The silky wave was exactly how Orton had said he thought it'd feel like but more. He thought about how her black hair would feel splayed out across his bare chest and he hated to end this scene. "Let's go, ladies," he stated and jerked his head sideways.

The director yelled, "Cut", and the photographer quickly pulled away from Batista. She felt faint from the way her heart beat against her chest while she was all but melded to him. She tried to chalk up the sweat running down her lower back and gathering between her breasts as a result of the hot leather but the woman knew better. His body could emanate that kind of heat in a blizzard.

"Let's see it," McMahon stated, heading for the camera. "I'm not in the mood to re-shoot."

Instead of watching the replay on the tiny monitor, Orianne rested on the couch. Her heartbeat was beginning to return to normal but the heels were killing her ankle. She would see it later on the big screen. Looking anywhere but at the group watching the monitor, her eyes caught sight of Randy Orton, standing a few yards away and watching her. She tried to look away but he was walking towards her. "You're good," he stated, sitting down beside her on the couch and looking her up and down. "And you look great too. Do you know that you're one hard woman to find? I've begun to think that you're a figment of my imagination, a _delectable_ figment that only comes and goes at the shows."

"Randy, has it occurred to you that I'm not interested in you? That I don't want to sleep with you?" she angrily asked.

"You haven't even given me a chance," he replied with a pout.

Orianne watched the group break up around the monitor and was inwardly relieved that now she'd be rescued. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Batista turn towards her but McMahon and Triple H flanked him and began walking off with him, deep in conversation. _Damn_, she thought. "Randy, listen to me carefully. I am married. I don't plan on having sex with anyone else ever again but my husband."

"Has it occurred to you that I might be interested in you for other purposes than sex? Maybe I just want to get to know you as a friend."

"From your reputation, I doubt it," she replied, violently pulling off the heels and stuffing her feet in the loafers.

"Give me a chance. Have dinner with me and if you don't want to be in my presence again, I'll leave you alone," he pleaded.

"Fine. I'll have dinner with you if it will get you off my back."

"Don't think of it like that, baby," he reached a hand out to touch her but she jerked back.

"One condition. You'll find your way to Stamford Wednesday night or no dice. Seven o'clock. Flammini's," she tersely stated before stalking off. She'd find out how interested he was in her if he actually showed up.

* * *

Orianne was looking forward to a pleasant dinner alone at Flammini's quaint Italian bistro. The restaurant was more of a formal café than a bistro. The booths were open and the lights always up, not quite the place to have a romantic tryst. She was a few minutes early but she wanted to see Randy Orton coming if indeed he decided to meet her. The events of the weekend and RAW had played over and over in her mind and a night out would be nice instead of sitting at home and succumbing to her thoughts again. Maybe she could gain a different perspective on it all out somewhere other than the dark room at work and her tiny apartment. 

The photographer couldn't get the feel of Batista's body against hers out of her mind. Even if she knew he had the same feelings, she couldn't act on them, still leaving her in a pickle. What exactly was she supposed to do about this relationship? She could cut him completely out of her life, which meant no more poker nights or company when she ventured out on the town to enjoy practicing her craft—that is if she could enjoy it now without him. Life would be boring, lonely, and depressing again. The past month had been the happiest she had been in years. She convinced herself that Dave obviously wanted to spend time with her but he had shown no indication that he was romantically interested in her. The best she had come up with so far was to just enjoy the sweet anguish of being in his company while wallowing in repressing her attraction for him.

As to the role she played Monday night, she would never forget it. It had been a dream come true for the most part. She would never be ringside in the same role and this was the best it would ever be but Orton's presence had taken the rush right out of the experience. Yet, to see the vignette on the big screen was a once in a lifetime event. She intentionally didn't tell Cara, who was floored over the incident and asked a million questions. Orianne could only shrug her shoulders and explain that she had been in the right place at the right time to get the part. She had also called home and asked Orrin, with no explanation, to record the show for her, which resulted in the same million questions being asked again from her family. She honestly thought Olivia was going to have an aneurysm over how jealous she was. Her older sister promised that she would bring her along one weekend.

Massaging the back of her neck to alleviate the tension headache that had been building, Orianne pushed the glass door open and waved at the hostess, who was getting used to seeing her once a week to pick up take-out after a long day in her dark room. "I'm meeting a friend," she said.

"He's already here, ma'am," Kim responded and pointed to a table where Randy Orton waited.

"Um, yes, thanks," Orianne responded and, like a sleepwalker, headed to where the wrestler was rising from his seat and beckoning her over. He was not supposed to show up. She hadn't even considered how she would handle him if he did because she didn't expect him at all.

"Good evening," Randy greeted, pulling a chair out for her and motioning for her to take a seat. He pushed it in under her as she sat down before settling opposite of her. "I ordered sweet tea for you," he said, indicating the glass on her right.

"They don't make it here."

"After a little coaxing, I persuaded them to make an exception for you."

"Um, thank you?" she replied, not meaning for it to sound like a question.

Randy made casual conversation while Orianne perused the menu even though she already knew what she wanted. Her head was beginning to throb now and she shuffled around in her purse to find some Tylenol but to no avail. "Do you happen to have anything for a headache?" she queried, wishing she didn't have to ask but desperate because her eyes were beginning to hurt.

"Yeah," he replied and reached into his front pants pocket to withdraw a small pillcase. Orianne wanted to make a smart remark about him taking drugs but thanked him instead as she picked out a pill that she thought was an Excedrin. After the server had taken their order, he began the flattery she expected. "You were great Monday night. Did you do your hair and make-up?"

"No, that would be Maria and Lita." She had returned to the lockerroom and changed out of the borrowed clothing, profusely thanking the divas who had helped. She hadn't encountered any of them since the vignette aired.

"I got to a monitor to see it. The camera loves you."

She demurely shook her head. "Stop kissing up. I'm here, aren't I?" Orianne said with a smile to tease him.

"Let me give compliment where compliment is due," Randy replied, shaking out his napkin.

"Can I have a Long Island ice tea?" she asked when the server stopped by with a basket of bread. She noticed Randy make a face like her request was the most unappealing drink but then he immediately plastered back on his charming smile. She was going to need a little to drink to get through this night and, if he didn't like it, then that made it all the better.

Throughout the evening, the headache dissipated and Orianne found herself loosening up and enjoying the conversation, slowly forgetting what her suspicious mind had kept right at the edge—the knowledge of exactly what Randy had done to Cara, along with the rumors of his conquests. Where there's smoke, there's fire, her grandmother had always said—may she rest in peace. The evening, or Randy for that matter, wasn't really as bad as she had thought but it wasn't until she stood up that she realized something was very wrong with how loose and calm she was. The floor dipped beneath her and the table wavered before her eyes. "She's had too much to drink," Randy stated to the woman at the table next to them who asked if she was alright. He put his arm around her waist and escorted out of the restaurant.

Orianne couldn't think straight. One minute she had felt very relaxed with Randy, a result of the alcohol in the tea she assumed, and then the room was spinning. Maybe she really did have too much to drink. But that was impossible. She could hold her liquor like the best of the frat boys. Even if it had been seven years since she last got drunk. "I can't drive," the woman reluctantly stated. "I don't know what happened." Her mind was just on edge enough to know this was all wrong; yet, she couldn't make her body work enough to refuse to go with him and call a cab. Maybe if she could just get home and inside her apartment everything would be alright. She had to be getting sick. That was it! She must have been hit with a flu bug or something that was complicated by drinking.

Randy helped her into the car and she had to concentrate hard to remember her address. The ride lulled her into a light sleep until he pulled up outside of her apartment building. She jerked awake to a semi-conscious state to find the wrestler caressing her face with one hand and his other reaching for the buttons on her shirt. She tried to push his hands away and managed to drag herself out of the car and stumble up the steps. At her door, she fumbled with the keys and cursed loudly but Orton was right behind her. Her hands were numb and her mind was fuzzy. "Here let me," he offered.

"Orianne? You alright?" a muffled voice asked. The black-haired woman looked up from where Randy was retrieving her keys to see Shaun Allen, her neighbor, staring at the two. They casually spoke in the hall and she had actually had to borrow sugar from him once. In response to his question, she shook her head and Shaun's eyes traveled over Orton as he stood up.

"Randy Orton," Shaun breathed.

"God damn it," Orianne swore again. She needed Randy to go away and Shaun was going to be of no help, which she desperately needed. After what he had pulled in the car, the last bit of her consciousness was beginning to think that he had drugged her.

"Yeah, nice to meet you, dude. Our friend here seems to have had too much to drink and I'm helping her get home," Randy explained.

Shaun had driven many wrestlers for the WWE but he had never had the privilege to drive for Randy Orton, the one wrestler that he most emulated in his ring work. He was floored and could do nothing but nod his head and slip back in. The indy wrestler was also stunned because Mrs. I'm-married-to-a-guy-in-the-Air-Force-so-don't-flirt-with-me was bringing back a guy to her apartment—Randy Orton, no less! Shaun shut the door behind him and peered through the peephole.

Orton slid the key into the lock and Orianne managed to put a hand on his. "Thank you for a nice evening," she said slowly, concentrating on each word. "But I think I'm sick. I just need to go in and lay down."

"Baby, I know how to make you feel real good," he said suggestively into her ear and slipped a hand inside her blouse where he had managed to get a few buttons undone.

The woman's eyes went wide and she summoned all of her energy to push him away. "Randy, you made me do this," she said and then began screaming for help. Orton knew he had gone too far and he looked around in a panic, hardly seeing another option. He then scooped her up over his shoulder and turned the key in the lock to get inside while she feebly flailed at him.

Just as the door was about to latch as he pushed it to, the door flew back open and the figure silhouetted by the bright breezeway connected his fist with Orton's jaw. He stumbled backwards, dropping Orianne to the floor. She crawled away and then recognized Shaun, who was dragging a stunned Randy out the door. He then slammed it shut and flipped on an overhead light before rushing to the woman's side. "What happened?" Allen softly asked.

"I had too much to drink and I think he tried to take advantage of me. Please help me to the couch," she whispered. Shaun put an arm around her and pulled her up to carefully lay her down on the futon. "Can I have my purse?" He quickly retrieved it for her and asked if he could do anything else for her. "Just water," was her reply.

Orianne needed to talk. She couldn't call any of her family—there were too many questions. Cara was not any option—the blonde would read her the riot act for being anywhere near Randy. There was only one other person with which she could share her heart and she hit the button for speed-dial.

"Hey…no, I'm not okay. I think I was drugged…I had dinner with Randy Orton…" She expected to be yelled at but the soothing voice pushed her over the edge into sweet oblivion.

Shaun had returned with a glass of water and saw the phone slip from her ear and out of her hand. He heard a voice on the other end calling her name and he picked it up, noticing the name on the screen—Dave Batista. "Um, sir, Mrs. Anderson fell asleep….or passed out," he added the last quietly. He was still in shock over having met and slugged Randy Orton and now talking to Dave Batista on his personal cell phone.

"How's her breathing?"

"Looks like it normal," her neighbor answered.

"Is she cold or clammy?"

Shaun reached out a hand to touch her face and then her cheek. "She feels fine."

"Okay, put a blanket over her anyhow. Tell me exactly what happened."

Dave managed to pack his suitcase for the weekend's shows and additional couple of days' worth while Allen explained the incident from his point of view. He was livid that Orton would do such a thing, especially to someone as helpless as Orianne in comparison to the younger wrestler. What bothered him the most was that he hadn't put it past Randy to attempt to drug her. He gratefully thanked Shaun and asked him to stay with her until he could get there, which, if he could get the next flight out, would only be a few hours.

While on the phone with the airlines, another call came through for him. After being informed that if he could get to the airport in half an hour he could be on the next flight, Dave checked to see who the missed call was from. It was Randy and he sure as hell wasn't going to hear what his message had to say right now. He was going to have to cool off first. Just as he was about to flip his phone shut, it rang again. This time it was his mother.

"Hey, Mom."

"Son, can you come over to the house?" Hea Batista hesitantly asked.

"I'm on my way to the airport," Dave answered, throwing his luggage into the trunk of his Lexus. Airport parking could watch his car this week.

"I didn't think you had to leave until Friday morning."

"We've had to schedule an emergency meeting and I need to be there tomorrow morning. Is something wrong?"

"Well…um…"

Dave could detect her indecisiveness. "What is it, Mom?"

"There's something you need to hear from me before you find out through someone else." Was his mother having an affair, he wondered. "We just came back from having dinner with the Grahams, you know Maddy and Tom?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "Well, you'll never guess who we ran into—Gabrielle Dean. Well, Edwards now."

"Get to the point, Mom." He couldn't believe she was calling him at 8:30 at night to tell her that she saw Gabrielle at some restaurant.

"She's pregnant and it might be your baby."

TBC…

**

* * *

Author's Notes:** Before you get too mad at Randy or think I'm going over the top with him, it's not as bad as it looks from the chapter. Dave will confront him and the truth (along with a few lies) will come out. It makes for a very interesting situation with Dave and Orianne after that. 


	10. Late Night Coffee Confessions

_**Chapter X: Late Night Coffee Confessions**_

Hearing his mother's news, Dave jerked down a side road and slammed on his brakes. "What?!"

"She looks like she might be seven months along but you can never tell with those skinny girls. So Maddy, who is buddy-buddy with Gabrielle's aunt, casually walks over and makes a big fuss about her being pregnant. Gabrielle kept skirting her questions about the due date but, really, this baby could be yours," Hea explained.

"God," he muttered, running a hand over his face. He could only stare out the windshield into the fading light.

"Dave, honey, are you alright? I'm sorry I had to tell you this but I thought it would be better coming from me than you running into her or hearing about it from somebody else."

"Thanks, Mom," he said. "I have connections. I'll find out."

For now, Dave could only drive to the airport. He needed to breathe again before he could make some calls. He really couldn't think at this moment. Orianne was passed out on her couch from Orton drugging and assaulting her and he could very well be a father, a fact hidden from him for possibly seven months. He went through the motions of purchasing his ticket and checking in his luggage.

The flight hadn't been called for yet, so Dave dialed the number of a mutual friend, the woman who introduced him to Gabrielle. "Shannon, start talking," he growled.

The girl on the other side of the line paused and then heavily sighed. "If I had known how wrong she would do you, I wouldn't have introduced the two of you." He and Shannon had tried to stay neutral and even managed to remain on speaking terms after the break-up, although Dave had rarely made a point to speak to anyone with any connection to Gabrielle.

"Is the baby mine?" he interrupted, getting down to business.

"She doesn't know. She was six months along last week." Dave did the math in his head and grew sick at his stomach. He had definitely being sleeping with her at the time and so had Kyle Edwards. The baby had to be Kyle's or she wouldn't have broken up with him and married Edwards. He now wondered if maybe he had scared Gabrielle out of their relationship when he didn't want to talk about getting married and with his adamant statement that he didn't want children. But that didn't negate the fact that she had slept around on him anyhow.

"You tell that bitch that I want a paternity test the second that kid's born," he rattled off in anger and hung up the phone on Shannon. If he wasn't on his way to see Orianne because she had run into trouble, he'd be on the plane anyhow because he really needed someone right now.

* * *

Orianne's eyes fluttered open in the dim room and she slowly sat up, realizing that she was on the futon in her living room, covered in her old UAB stadium blanket. Her head was throbbing dully and her stomach felt sour. She rubbed her belly trying to ease it and her thumb caught in the hem of the half unbuttoned shirt. Everything came rushing back—even up to her phone call to Dave Batista. She shouldn't have called him but, in her haze, she needed a familiar, soothing voice. The fact that he was Randy's best friend hadn't crossed her mind. She had possibly solved her relationship problems with Dave by that call. He would probably never speak to her again after her accusation. Even if he believed her at first but asked Randy anyhow, the younger wrestler would deny it. Who would he believe? A married woman who had no business spending time alone with him in a hotel room or his best friend of several years now? She might as well get it over with and call Dave back so he could "break it off" with her now instead of on the road.

Her eyes searched for her cellphone as she buttoned up her shirt, her mind having conveniently forgotten Shaun Allen was in her apartment before she lost consciousness. Seeing the glass of water on the coffee table, she remembered the wrestler and reached for the cup before greedily gulping it down.

"You're awake," a man said from her kitchenette. Orianne heard Dave Batista's voice but she knew she was having auditory hallucinations. He was the last thing she thought of when she fell asleep and the first thing she thought of upon waking. The woman turned towards the voice, expecting to see Shaun. She blinked at the man as if trying to determine if he was a mirage. "You want some coffee?" he asked but the woman shook her head in response. "You okay?"

"I think so," she replied and swung her feet off the couch to make room for Dave. "I feel so…drained."

"Feeling queasy at all?"

"No, just really tired."

"When did you get here? Where's Shaun? Wait, how do you know?"

"Well, you fell asleep on me on the phone while Shaun was getting you water and he picked up the phone when he heard me yelling at you after I thought something bad had happened," Dave explained, his hand soothingly rubbing up and down her back. "He told me everything and I asked him to wait on me to get here. You've been asleep about four hours now and I've been here about an hour."

"You didn't have to come," she wearily replied.

"I wanted to. I wanted to make sure you were alright and I need to talk—" he stopped quickly, not wanting to burden her with his problems just yet. "Is there anything I can get you? More water? You want me to run you a bath?"

"No. But I think I want a shower, which I can handle."

"I'll be right here if you need me. Just call."

She reached out and took his hand in both of hers. "Thank you. You'll never know how much this means."

Dave nodded and she rose from the couch, heading into her bedroom. He shook his head in response to her comment. This wouldn't have happened if he had only put his foot down with Randy, threatening him if he touched her. He was completely to blame for all this, for that complete idiot hurting Orianne. As Heavyweight Champion, he could beat the hell out of Orton and get a warning to never do it again. If he touched Randy anywhere else other than the arena, the police could be called and too many legal issues involved. Come Friday night, he would get his hands on the asshole.

Orianne returned shortly dressed in a t-shirt and pajamas pants with smiley face socks and her hair toweled dry. She curled up on the couch and Dave quietly asked, "You want to talk about it?"

"Uh-huh," she said with a slow nod and Dave instinctively pulled her to his chest, holding her close while she related the details of the night, trying to hold back the tears. "And what's worse," she replied, her voice breaking, "is that I don't know why I'm about to cry. It's not like he raped me. I've fended off worse bartending for frat parties."

"I think it's just all this pent-up emotion that you've been holding in the past six months. You've had no one to talk to. Your sister's in summer classes and your brother's all tied up with the farm. You don't want to upset your parents. Who exactly are you going to talk to about Sloan and all the challenges of this job? It took an incident like this to unleash it."

"Yeah," she sniffled in reply, hurriedly controlling her emotions, and then shifted in his arms to look up at him. "So you believe me? You're not mad at me?"

"There's something I should probably tell you about Randy," Dave said with a sigh, sure she would cry now. By the time he was done relating the less offensive aspects of Orton's stalking, Orianne was livid. He regretted telling her because she had now extracted herself from his arms and was pacing as she worked through her initial anger. She didn't yell at him or about Randy and she didn't throw anything. That was a welcome respite from the way a pissed off Gabrielle would respond. However, she was muttering to herself about how embarrassed and gullible she was. Of course she hadn't believed Randy was interested in her alone but he had put her in the most awkward situation ever. Had she actually let him touch her of her own will, the joke would have been on her. If she considered herself embarrassed now, her humiliation and anger would have been a hundred times this. Little did it matter that she never once considered more than a dinner with him.

"Oh, god," she quietly murmured, pressing a hand to her mouth and stumbling backward from Dave. "You weren't like his spy? Were you supposed to scope me out?"

"No, Orianne," he breathed, rising from the futon. When she only stared at him without moving, he decided on honesty. "He wanted me to find out whatever I could about you and, at that time, I didn't even know you. So, I was curious to know whoever it was that had him so obsessed. I never really got around to that. I stopped and picked you up in the rain because I wanted to." She was trying to digest this all, to believe his every word. It was hard given what she had just learned about Randy Orton. Watching the distress on her face, he did the only thing he knew—keep talking. "Would I tell you all this if it wasn't true? I don't know if we would have even started talking if Randy hadn't wanted to try to add another notch on his bedpost."

"You have a point there."

Dave reached out and put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her. "But I like being with you regardless of whatever crazy notions Randy has in his head."

This was becoming uncomfortably close for her. Orianne was having trouble with her emotions without him touching her. She wished she could see his side of this because, right now, she felt like the air was so heavy with sexual tension that it made her ears stop up. "Thanks," she managed to squeak out, "me too. I'm gonna get another cup of coffee so we can talk about where you're sleeping tonight."

The black-haired woman stepped away from Dave and he removed his hand. Out of her sight, he pulled it close to his body as if he had burned it. "I'd be glad to let you stay here but as you can see," Orianne called from the kitchen, "I don't exactly have anything large enough for you to sleep on." Dave heard her but he wasn't listening. He was trying his damnedest to figure out what was going on inside of him. He wished he could see her side of this. For him, the gaze and the touch they shared were electrifying. He had no other way to describe it. "There's a very good hotel about two blocks away or so I'm told. Olivia and Orrin stayed there a few weeks back," she continued, oblivious to the war waging within him. He wanted to know why he was feeling this intense desire for a woman when he had sworn them off and a married woman at that. Even if he decided to give in and be with another woman, it couldn't be Orianne. _It can never be Orianne, _he said to himself again to reiterate the point. "Orrin's probably two inches shorter than you and he said the beds were really good but that you had to request a long one," she said, handing him a cup of coffee.

Dave looked up at her with a gaze like a possum's when caught in the headlights of a car. His brain finally caught up with the words he had heard and he nodded. With what had transpired, he thought that maybe it _was _best if he spent the night at the hotel despite the fact that he could curl up on the futon and still be very comfortable. Thinking about another lonely night in a hotel room, he wasn't sure he could do it without talking to someone about the disturbing phone call from his mother earlier in the evening. He could hardly hold it in waiting for Orianne to wake up but, when she did, what happened to her overrode his problems at that moment. While he tried to comfort her, the call was niggling at the back of his mind. However, she was probably too tired to listen since she needed coffee just to talk about him staying in a hotel but he decided to test her anyhow. "I bet you're too tired to come with me and get me checked in. If you'll give me an idea about how to get there, I'll be fine."

"Oh, I'm fine. I'm actually a little wired. The coffee was just to have something to drink," she replied, holding the cup up. Dave paused for a moment, trying to come up with a way to broach the subject. He drained the rest of the mug, which was still over half full. "You need any more?" Orianne asked.

"No, thank you," he answered and passed the cup into her outstretched hand.

The woman carried it into the kitchen and turned around to come back but stopped. Dave's head was down, his shoulders were hunched, and his hands dangled between his legs where his forearms were propped on his knees. She didn't know him inside and out, despite the feeling they had been close friends for a long time. Yet, she did know something was wrong and she suddenly remembered him cutting off a statement he had begun—_"I need to talk…" _Orianne refilled the coffee cup anyhow and brought it back to him. "Something's wrong," she said and held out the mug.

"How did you know?"

"I don't know. Call it woman's intuition or something. Let me return the favor. Start talking." She settled on the couch, turning sideways to face Dave and curling her legs under her.

"Gabrielle's pregnant," he simply stated and waited for her face to twist up in repulsion. He suddenly felt like she would reject him because his ex-girlfriend might be pregnant with his child.

"And you think it's yours?"

"See, that's it. I don't know. She was sleeping around on me at the same time and it could be her husband's."

Orianne nodded and replied, "Let's pretend for a moment that you find out that without a shadow of a doubt that her baby is Kyle's. Go there in your mind and tell me how you'd feel if that was true."

"Relieved," he sighed. "I don't want children. I'm not cut out to be a father and I've always known that. I completely believe that some people are never meant to be parents. Do you know what I mean?"

"More than you'll ever know," she replied under her breath and nodded.

"Mom always said that'll change after I have my own. I'm not taking any chances! I'm too self-centered and I like it that way. Does that make any sense?"

Her eyes gazed behind him, as if she were suddenly distant, and she whispered, "You want to be able to pick up at a moment's notice, to not have to defend your position of discipline, to not spend sleepless nights wondering if you're bringing them up right or worse, when they're older, wonder where they are and what they're doing. When their heart breaks, your heart breaks. When the world hurts them, there's nothing you can do to change the world."

"Yes," he breathed. "You feel the same way?"

"Uh-huh," she quietly replied and then her eyes came back into focus. "I'm not cut out to be a mother either. I'm too selfish."

"You are not selfish. You give too much of yourself as it is."

"No, I am selfish. I don't want the responsibility of another person. I can't even take care of a dog."

"That's totally it. I just don't know how much responsibility I'm going to have if this baby is mine," he replied, gesturing at her as she knew exactly what he was talking about.

"You have two or three options as I see it. Gabrielle obviously doesn't want you in this baby's life or she would have said something. So, you can let it go and not get a paternity test but then live your life wondering. If you get the test and the baby is yours, you can insist on being in its life…or let Gabrielle choose how much she wants you in their lives, _if _she does. But just remember, if you get the test and the baby's yours, Gabrielle can sue you for child support."

"Yeah, I know," he answered but child support wasn't a problem on his salary. Orianne opened her mouth to keep discussing his options but clamped it shut in embarrassment as she realized that he probably knew everything she had just explained. "I was only agreeing with you," he quickly added, seeing her flushed cheeks. He wanted to say more when her cheeks grew darker but was afraid it would only continue to embarrass her. So, he decided to say nothing.

The two sat in silence for a few moments while Dave agonized over getting out the rest of his fears. He never shared his heart with someone like this before. Yeah, he had been characterized as a metrosexual and, because of that, many women sought him thinking that he was as emotional and open as them. That was hardly true. "I'm scared I pushed her away. I told her over and over that I wasn't ready to get married and I thought she was fine with it."

Orianne nodded her head as she recalled their conversation that night in the parking deck when they were supposed to be seeing a movie together. She had been blown away that a guy like him was so wary of marriage. Other than cheating on him, she really didn't blame Gabrielle for leaving him after five years. What surprised her was that _Dave _stuck with the woman to begin with. She couldn't believe that he was so head over heels for her and not see what an incredible _bitch _she was. From what Dave had told her, she had gathered that the former Miss Cherry Blossom was nothing short of an arrogant, spoiled priss. She was accustomed to her life as a model and demanded she be treated like she was Tyra Banks or Claudia Schiffer. If he wasn't already scared of marriage before meeting Gabrielle, Orianne would believe that it was Dave's subconscious realizing that he didn't need to be married to the woman in the first place. "She wasn't but that didn't stop her from getting pregnant," Orianne snapped, letting her rumination take over.

"I don't think she did it intentionally. But what if she married Kyle because she knows how I feel and was tired of waiting. She found out she was pregnant, knew I didn't want to get married yet, and picked up with him. What if I scared her away?"

"Dave, can I be candid with you?" she abruptly asked and he nodded. "The fact that she cheated on you has nothing to do with her being scared. She _cheated_ on you! You wouldn't be in this mess if she hadn't cheated."

"But what if…"

"Dave," she interrupted, "the damage has been done and there can be no 'what ifs' about her marrying Kyle. The question comes down to if or how much you want to be in this baby's life."

He nodded again, gazing down at his hands. She was right and he hated to admit it. "What would you do?"

"Me? I, uh…it's kinda hard for me to be giving you any advice because I'm a woman. I don't know if I could see it from your point of view. Maybe you should just ask what Gabrielle wants. If you don't want the baby and she doesn't want you involved, then that might answer your question."

"I guess there's no point in asking you if you could turn away from a child knowing it's yours."

"That's a harder question to answer and one I hope to never have to face. I'll have had a nine month head start on you th—" A large yawn cut off the rest of her reply.

Dave looked up for a clock and noticed the early dawn light coming around the edges of the blinds. "I've kept you up all night. Shame on me."

"I know where my bed is. Would you prefer to crash on my couch or me start breakf—" Another yawn interrupted her words but was met with a yawn from Dave.

The wrestler chuckled and replied, "I think I'll just park it here if you don't mind."

Orianne nodded and responded, "I'll get you a pillow and a blanket." Dave had the futon laid down by the time she was back and he took the linens from her despite her protest to make up the bed for him. The sexual tension had long passed when they started discussing his situation with Gabrielle and the photographer put a hand on his arm and pulled him down to her. "Thank you for coming," she whispered and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thanks for listening," he replied and kissed her on the top of the head.

"Good night," they both quietly said to each other and then laughed before each settled in their own bed for the few remaining hours of the morning.

* * *

Orianne's flight out of Stamford to the next house show didn't leave until late Thursday evening, giving the two of them enough time to catch up on some sleep before having to leave for the airport. Dave found a seat on her flight, one that was relatively empty. As much as she wanted to spend time with him, she did not want to board this plane with him. Stamford's metal detectors hated her. She could find no way of getting through security without him, so she marched her way up to line, hoping that a security officer that knew her and her problem would be waiting at the end.

The officer's faces were not new but this was the first time Orianne had been in their line. She answered 'yes' to their questions regarding emptying her pockets and if she was wearing a belt. They hadn't given her time to explain. They ran the wand over her, a familiar action for her, even though unwanted. The alarm sounded over her left leg and they escorted her aside. Orianne noticed that Dave had stepped through the detector with no problem and seemed to be concerned about her. She tried to position herself with her right to him but the officers would have nothing of it when they made her pull up her pants leg and then patted down her left hip while she hastily explained the accident. Peeking over her shoulder, she saw Dave hurriedly glance away. The guards were finally satisfied and released her.

Orianne said nothing and neither did Dave. They both acted as if he had not seen the ugly slash of a scar rising up her from ankle and one across her knee. Dave was angry at whatever had happened to her and wanted to pound on something. However, he realized that if she wanted him to know, she would have told him. What bothered him the most was that she didn't trust him enough to let her guard down around him. Orianne was thinking about how Dave had already accused Sloan of abusing her based on words. He would probably be thinking the same thing despite her reassurance her husband had never done so. However, he would probably be the only person who wouldn't respond in the ways that made her keep the accident a secret. She knew he had already noticed the limp because of the way he treated her the first night they met in the rain but he had acted as if nothing was ever wrong. Yet, what difference did it make if he _did _know. She had only known him for three months and he had managed to discover her little secret desire of being a diva. However, they had a certain kind of trust between them. He had shared thoughts and feelings with her that no man would usually tell another woman. She herself had said some things that not even her husband knew about. Orianne utterly trusted Dave and the woman couldn't explain why. She wanted to call it a connection but that was getting to close to a relationship beyond friends.

Disembarking from the plane, Batista turned on his cell phone to check his messages. For the second time that day, Randy Orton had called him and left a message. He wasn't even slightly interested in what the younger wrestler had to say. However, Dave had a few things to say to him. He had kept his cool over the whole situation for Orianne's sake but the closer the time came to arrive at arena, the more his blood pressure started to rise. He could already feel his knuckles cracking against Orton's jaw.

Dave managed to stay calm as he forced himself to keep a steady, slow pace as he made his way to the locker room, making a point to speak with anyone who stopped him. Pushing open the steel door, he sighted Orton and tossed his own bags aside.

"Dude, why haven't you called me back?" Randy began but Batista advanced on him. In two long strides, he was within reach of the smaller man and swung out, connecting with the other's face. Orton was caught off guard and tumbled backward onto the floor. Dave leaned over him and punched him in the chest.

Satisfied with the whoosh of air rushing out of his lungs, Batista ground out, "We're going to talk and not here." He said the last for the benefit of the other shocked wrestlers who had finally gathered round to pull the two apart if the fight continued. He grabbed a fistful of Orton's t-shirt and hauled him up, dragging him towards the door. Randy, unable to catch his breath, could do nothing but comply as Batista escorted him towards a staff bathroom that was thankfully empty. The Champion threw him inside and then turned the deadbolt into place.

"Did you really think you were gonna rape her to get back at Cara and get away with it?" With his hand on his chest, Randy could only shake his head vigorously in response to Dave's question. "Then what exactly did you think?"

"I ca…called you…left voice…mails."

Seeing as how Orton was having trouble talking, Dave pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed his voicemail. _Dave, I did something kinda stupid. I need you to call me back. _Then, _Dave, really need to talk to you. I had dinner with Orianne and gave her one of my prescription migraine pills. I didn't mean any harm but I didn't know she was going to have alcohol on top of it. _The last voicemail, Randy pleaded for Dave to call him. _Dave, I'm afraid Orianne's going to bring charges against me or something. Her neighbor saw it all and busted the door down. What do you think I should do? _

Batista flipped his phone shut and placed it back in his pants pocket. "So tell me why you put your hands on her and physically hauled her into her apartment while she was screaming?"

Randy was breathing easier and replied, "Because she _was _screaming. The whole hall was going to come out and think that I was raping her. I just thought I'd get her inside and then try to calm her down. Did she accuse me of drugging her? How do you know about this?"

"Don't change the subject. Why did you put your hands all over her, try to undress her when she couldn't even think straight?"

"I really didn't know how much affect the pill had on her. She looked like she was getting a migraine and then I just thought she'd be more willing if I tried to turn her on or something if she took something to loosen her up."

"Randy, I am _pissed_ at you for the migraine pill. You know better than to give someone a prescription. To begin with, I was going to kill you but, now, I'm just pissed."

"Why exactly do _you_ care?" Orton asked accusingly.

TBC…


	11. Do You Trust Me?

**Rating Warning: **This chapter contains one cuss word that would probably raise the rating by one notch. If you feel you can't read it, I'll be glad to send you a censored version.

**_Chapter XI: Do You Trust Me?_**

"_Why exactly do **you** care?" Orton asked accusingly._

Dave hadn't thought this through very well. No one knew about his relationship with Orianne because he really didn't think anyone would understand. He just opened his mouth and started talking. "Shawn Michaels called me. Apparently the two of them have a close relationship. He asked that I take care of this since he couldn't be here this week."

"When did you become Shawn Michaels' lapdog?"

"When I called Orianne and found out that we're distantly related." Orton's mouth dropped open. "Yeah," Dave continued as the lie became easier, "her husband is my aunt-in-law's first cousin."

"Is that really kin?"

"Close enough for me to care about her and to make sure that I look after her for my family while we're on the road and her husband is away."

"Dude, I am backing off," Randy answered with a shrug of his shoulders and pushed by Dave to unlock the door and leave.

Batista wasn't done with his lecture, particularly the part about drugging women, even if done in small quantities. However, he was more concerned with fixing his lie. The wrestler quickly turned the lock back in place on the door and pulled out his cell phone again. "Orianne, this is Dave. Can you talk for a minute?"

"Yeah," she replied, scared to death of what was going on. He had never called her while at the arena. "I'm just out here at the ring. You want me to come find you?"

"No, just listen. I think I've done something stupid."

"You? Stupid? Get real. That's not even in your vocab—" Orianne began, thinking about how honestly perfect he was. Impeccably dressed at all times, there was never a hair out of place and the same went for his actions and words. It was really sickening.

"Seriously. You have to listen to me," he said, cutting her off. When she didn't reply, he took that to mean he should continue. "I confronted Randy about Wednesday ni—"

"You did what?"

"You can yell at me later for that. Listen to me now. I confronted him and he wanted to know why I had an interest in you. As far as he knows, I only know what you look like and your name. I said that—Fuck! I have to call Shawn Michaels," he suddenly shouted.

"Don't say that word. You know how much I hate it," Orianne chastised, one, because she did hate the word—it had never passed her lips before—and, two, to slow him down for whatever he had to tell her.

"Sorry. I told Randy that you told Shawn and since Shawn's at home, he asked me to take care of this. _Then _I told him that you and me are distantly related on my…" Batista stopped to remember exactly how he said they were related, "…aunt's, no, you are married to my aunt-in-law's first cousin."

"Do what?" she squeaked.

"I am so sorry, Orianne. I had no idea how to explain me flattening Randy and then dragging him out of the locker room. Even if nobody wonders why I hit him, I have no doubt he'll say something." Dave suddenly stopped and then softly continued, "Ori, I didn't want anybody thinking the wrong thing about us spending time together. We're friends but I'm afraid everybody else will consider you a slut if they saw us together."

The woman sucked in her breath at the use of her nickname and couldn't breathe through the rest of his explanation. She had often heard the despised shortened name but coming off his lips made her stomach flip-flop. That was not counting the rest of his words. It had crossed her mind that he didn't want anybody to see them together because he was ashamed of being _her _friend, as if she was too low on the WWE totem pole for him to spend time with someone in her position. Unless he was a damn good liar, he had the intention of making sure her name went unsullied.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For lying?"

"No, for the reason why and for wanting to settle with Orton. You didn't have to do any of that."

"Yes, I did. You deserve to be treated better."

A grin split Orianne's face but it quickly left as she saw Dennis approaching. He had what seemed to be amended pages for tonight's schedule. "I have to go. We'll talk some more tonight?"

"Yeah, that would be good," Dave asked, feeling much better about having to tell Orianne about what happened. However, Shawn Michaels was next. "Are we still playing poker?"

"Good question. Call me afterward if you know for sure. 'Bye." The photographer turned toward Dennis and waited for the tirade that she knew was coming. He hated changes and was vocal about it with Quinn, Cedarius, and herself.

Poker was cancelled for the weekend. RVD twisted up his knee enough to be drugged for the evening and sent home and Shawn Michaels and Ric Flair were on vacation for the next two weeks. Between Dave, Orianne, and Mike Chioda, they decided it wouldn't be worth it to meet. With RVD possibly injured, poker was officially cancelled for the next weekend unless Rob came back and wanted to get together.

Orianne nervously piddled about the hotel room while Dave lay back on the queen sized bed, watching her and attempting to get her to open up. She said she had wanted to talk more about their situation but the photographer had little to say. She darted from her suitcase to the bathroom and then folded up clothes lying around before rearranging some hanging on the rack by the door. She was frustrating him because he knew she wasn't this neat and because she wouldn't be still despite the fact that her limp had grown progressively worse throughout the day. He wanted her to stop and say more than "okay, whatever you think" with regards to his earlier fabrication. She even didn't have a problem with the lie Dave fed to Shawn, which was that Dave found out _after _Orton's "assault" that they were kin and he needed an excuse as to why Orianne would be telling him about it since the poker group wasn't exactly common knowledge while everyone knew Shawn and Orianne often talked.

A storm front was rolling in and had been wreaking havoc on Orianne all day but she had to keep moving. She was now "related" to Dave, which was actually a good thing as a cover-up. The difficult part of the situation was that their relationship had drastically changed. They were no longer quite so secret, yes, but the reasons behind the act were disturbing. Had she been single, things would be different. She was playing with fire, tantalizing fire. It was in the way that he said her nickname, so soft and seductive. The woman couldn't be still with him in her room and she battled her thoughts regarding how she would handle him. They were not engaging in anything illicit and she had to ask herself if indulging in his company and her fantasies—as long they remained fantasies—were also illicit.

"Orianne, _sit _before I sit on _you_," Batista ordered. The photographer did _not _argue with his command and parked herself at the bottom of the bed where he was pointing. "Don't move."

"I got that part," she replied back but understood what he meant as his large hands closed over her shoulders and began to knead them.

"Tell me what's bothering you."

"I don't know," she sighed. "I'm just wound up with all this stuff with Randy."

"It's passed; I told you that. He's not going to do anything about it. Him getting both his legs broken by me is not worth it," Dave replied and worked his thumbs down her spine and then out across her lower back. He knew that she had been afraid that Orton would either try again or attempt to intimidate her into keeping quiet, so he related the entire incident to the woman. She had good-naturedly chided him over hitting the younger wrestler but it felt good to have him stand up for her and for Orton to get what was coming to him. There was no excuse for what he had done despite his intention.

Orianne grunted when Dave found a couple of knots and he ordered her to lie down.

"Only if I can return the favor," she replied in the same commanding tone. Batista started to decline since the company masseuse had given him one already after his match but he knew how much Orianne disliked favors she couldn't return that weren't poker related.

"Good enough," he responded and moved out of her way as she situated herself on her stomach. Dave pushed her shirt up to expose her lower back and began circling the knots with this thumbs.

Orianne had started to protest at his fingertips on her bare back but she could only grimace and attempt to hold back the grunts…and justify enjoying his touch through the pain. It was an innocent massage from a good friend. Nothing was wrong with that.

"How's that?" he asked, tugging her t-shirt back into place.

"Wonderful," she sighed, rolling over and smiling at him. "Worth not being able to breathe."

"As much as it hurts, it always feels better," Dave replied and pulled her feet into his lap. "I like these," he said, indicating the teal socks that sported black and white cows jumping over green and yellow moons as he pulled the right one off and kneaded the sole of her foot. "My niece would like them. She's obsessed with cows like you're obsessed with collecting socks."

Orianne blushed, not with embarrassment, but over the fact that he noticed. "Some people collect stamps or stuffed bears—or cows—but I collect socks. No good reason," she said with a shrug.

"I think there's one," he replied as she dissolved into a moan as he massaged her heel.

"What does that mean?" she asked in a whisper with her eyes rolled back into her head with pleasure.

"Hmmm…" he deflected and reached for her other foot. As he slid his finger inside the top of her sock, her eyes flew open and she jerked her foot away, even though he refused to let go. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course," she replied and tried to pull her leg in to her body.

"Orianne," he firmly said, "do you trust me?"

She stared at him for a moment, his index finger still hooked into the hem of the fabric. "Yes," the woman finally replied.

"Why are you so guarded?" he asked conversationally, slipping the sock off and beginning to knead her foot.

His eyes never left hers and his gaze compelled her to answer or else it felt he would see into her soul and read the answer there. "I don't like being treated any different," she answered through a moan of pleasure.

"Have I done that yet?" Dave asked, his fingertips gliding over the scars surrounding her ankle and running up the outside of her calf.

"Hmmph," she snorted but then mumbled, "God, that feels good."

"When exactly have I treated you different?"

"The first night we met."

"Oh, when I picked you up in the rain and brought in your equipment just because that was a nice thing to do and I knew nothing about you," he sarcastically replied.

She said nothing in response but continued on with her explanation because he had slid his hand up under the leg of her pajamas to massage her calf and she had to keep talking or she would dissolve into a puddle. "People are nosy, too nosy for their own good. Have you noticed that if the door is in the back of the room at our meetings and someone's late, everybody will turn around in the middle of McMahon's speech to see who it is? I just don't appreciate the questions, so I don't give them any reason to ask them."

"Now you make me want to ask those questions," he said with a cheeky grin attempting to maneuver around the pajamas to grasp her knee. For all intents and purposes, the surgeries had reconstructed her knee and her ankle, which was slightly flatter than the other, to feel almost as if nothing had ever happened. From what he could tell, the pucker running down the front of her knee and the tiny slits around the side were the only things to give the reconstruction away.

"That's the most unique way someone has asked me what happened without actually asking," she replied but then moaned again as his thumbs worked the muscles around her knee. "If you keep doing that, I can't talk."

"Alright," he replied and slid his hands down her leg and out of the cotton bottoms. "Put on a pair of shorts and let me finish. _Then _you can talk."

_Do you trust me? _Of course she did but years of hiding her scars around anyone but her family made her uneasy. "That's not necessary," Orianne declined and started to wave him off but the stern glare that she received was enough to set in her motion to at least fake a search for the article of clothing. She wasn't so self-conscious that she thought he would reject her friendship simply for the marks that scored her flesh. She knew she probably made a bigger deal of hiding it than necessary but it was assholes like Dennis who made fun of Cara for a crooked pinky finger that Orianne had guarded herself from.

While the raven-haired woman was rifling through her suitcase, Dave wondered what in the hell he was doing. Her little noises of pleasure from the massage had innervated his libido and here he was prodding her into revealing more flesh that he could touch. He hadn't meant to so intensely demand her trust but he couldn't stand to be shut out like that. It had simply started out as a desire to relax her, to make her feel better but then he couldn't stand that, after all the intimacies they had shared and the way he had put himself on the line by confronting Orton, she would still not trust him with something that was such a part of her and her life.

"The elephant man is not on display today," she joked, turning back around to him. "No shorts this week and if you don't believe me, Dave Batista," she sternly stated, "then you can pilfer through my underwear yourself."

Dave considered calling her bluff—he would have been right though—but after demanding her trust, he didn't want to hurt her feelings. "Well, then…" The wrestler tackled her and tossed her on the bed, pinning her down. "Are you ticklish?"

Orianne's eyes grew wide and she began struggling to get out from under him. "Calm down, I'm just kidding," he said with a laugh, holding her down until she stilled. "Now I know how to scare the hell out of you," he stated, slipping his hands down from her shoulders, more to keep her in place than to touch her, to her left thigh to massage it.

"You have to stop that," she breathed.

"What? You like this?" he asked, slowing moving up her thigh to her hip. Her stomach bottomed out and she literally could not feel her feet as his large hands clasped over her hip bone. She involuntarily moaned in response and he smiled to himself as he continued his ministrations.

When he finally stopped, she slowly opened her eyes with a sigh. "Thank you."

"You want me to do the other side?"

"I'm good. It's your turn anyhow," she said, rising to her knees and indicating he should turn around. The woman almost protested as he pulled his shirt over his head.

Orianne paused above his shoulders and then indulged herself and skittered her fingertips across the top of his tattoo. "Tell me your story," he said as her fingers lightly grazed his skin and sent shivers throughout his body.

"It's so boring, so please try not to fall asleep," she replied and plunged in, talking as much as touching to keep her mind—and her body—from responding in a manner that would definitely get her in trouble. "I was at the stupid age of thirteen and acting like a spoiled brat. I think I was pissed at Orrin because I was jealous of him and I wanted to go hang out with my best friend to lament the woes of being the inferior twin but I smarted off to Mom and she refused to drive me over to my friend's farm. A few more words later and I found myself grounded. So I stormed out, saddled up my horse, Aramis, and raced him out of there—I would 'drive' my own self." She stopped to make bunny fingers and, despite the professional massage earlier, Dave hoped she was not through.

"Why does that not surprise me? Claiming independence at thirteen."

"No, just stupid. Aramis was just training to be a show horse when some idiot kid shoved a plastic snake into his stall and he went ballistic and scarred up his legs too badly to be shown. So we ended up buying him for riding lessons because he was so obedient and calm. I fell in love with him and he sorta became _my _horse unofficially," she wistfully related.

"Please tell me he made it out of this alive," Dave interrupted, sensing the love she had for the animal.

"He's still my baby even though he's getting on up there in years. You'll have to meet him," she replied and began switching her tired hands off to massage his neck. "I think he's forgiven me by now. I forgave him much more quickly since it was all my fault I practically rode him into a cottonmouth snake. He reared up, I flew off and, thankfully, hit my head—"

"Thankfully?" Dave asked, turning his head around to see her.

"Yeah, knocked me out," she replied and parted her hair to reveal a two inch scar behind her ear. "Fortunately because Aramis trampled me in what we can only figure out was his way of scaring the snake and protecting me." Dave twisted around on the bed to 'inadvertently' give her a rest because he could tell her hands were growing tired.

"And it's still bad after all these years?"

"I have more metal in me from the waist down than a kitchen full of appliances."

"That's why you set off the metal detector."

"Yeah, it's only Stamford's that consistently does that. I had pins in a destroyed hip bone, femur, tibia, and a reconstructed knee cap and ankle. I had several reconstructive surgeries, my body rejected some of the materials and they had to start all over again. I finally hit my growth spurt—I was a late bloomer—which made it all the worse. Hours of physical therapy after the casts came off and you have what you see. Like you have to oil joints, I still have exercises I do every day and I can predict rain ninety-nine point nine percent of the time." Orianne paused for a moment to gauge Dave's thoughts but it seemed impossible—as always. "So, did you enjoy the bedtime story?"

"Orianne, your sarcasm kills me. I will admit that after I accused your husband of hitting you, I figured you were in some massively tragic event that took your parents, your horse, your dog, and your farm and left you so emotionally damaged you'd never be able to love again."

"Talk about _my _sarcasm," she exclaimed and punched him in the shoulder but his hand locked around her wrist before she drew back.

"I do wish it had never happened to you," he seriously replied, "but I have this feeling we would never have met if it hadn't happened."

Orianne could only hold his gaze, his intense chestnut eyes boring into her soul. Could he see that a once athletic, young girl turned to photographing everything that moved from her wheelchair to deal with an accident that removed her mobility? Could he see her rejection years ago of all things equestrian from fear and depression, a rejection of the family business that disappointed her parents? Could he now see the fear and trembling in her soul simply from his presence bearing upon her loneliness and shaky marriage?

Finally she broke loose from the trance and Dave released her arm. "It's been a long day. I'm going to turn in, if that's alright."

"Great idea," he yawned and began to hunt for his running shoes. "Are we still on for tomorrow?"

"Bright and early," she said with a smile.

"I could only be so lucky," he sarcastically replied before letting himself out.

* * *

How was it possible a simple action of fingers entwined together could stand in so much tension between elation and distress? Orianne's relationship with Dave had been ambiguous to this point but now she had little doubt as to what was not happening between them.

Despite his dislike of nature and the outdoors, Batista had agreed to accompany Orianne to a local bird sanctuary and wildlife preserve. She simply wanted get out of the city and he really wanted to throw pebbles at squirrels to relieve his frustration. Straying off the path in search of some critter that had run by them, Orianne wanted to continue on over a stream that required her to climb up a large rock. She was about to turn around dejectedly when Dave climbed the rock himself and then hoisted her up behind him. When he didn't let go of her hand, neither did she drop his. For another hour, they wondered down the creek and then back onto the path without once letting go of each other's hand.

The illicit action sent Orianne's heart pumping and her mind churning. How could she possibly do this when she was married? Yet, it wasn't adultery. She wasn't exactly cheating on Sloan. High schoolers held hands all the time. She even held her sister's hand when they went shopping. What was wrong with this small pleasure, with feeling like she was wanted, with thinking someone wanted to touch _her_? She could stop it before it went too far. That would be much easier than not holding hands.

Dave wasn't faring much better either. He couldn't figure why he hadn't let go of her hand when he pulled her up that rock. What exactly was it about her that made his hand work independently from his mind? It was as if there was a magnet that couldn't be pulled apart. He was really doing nothing wrong. It was nothing that involved naked body parts or was invasive. But that didn't stop his heart from swelling when she didn't let go.

No one would understand, they thought separately. Even if they were "kin" in other eyes, this was something they couldn't explain. After Dave saw her to her hotel room that evening, there wasn't another occasion for them to be alone again until Dave banged on her door the next Sunday afternoon.

Orianne had been napping so heavily after a wonderful lunch with Cara that she had to jerk herself awake to answer the door, not even bothering to look through the peephole. Her hair was in disarray, parting in two different places and a barrette dangling from one strand. She picked out the barrette when she realized it was Dave at the door.

"You've got a king-sized bed. Good," he said without preamble.

"What?" she muttered, rubbing at her eyes. "You woke me up from the best nap of my life to check out my bed."

"Sorry. It's just that I desperately need a nap. My eyes started crossing in this morning's meeting and I can't wrestle tonight like that."

"And my bed is better?" she scoffed in her haze.

"You didn't let me finish. Housekeeping just came into my room and the woman recognized me. I'm not putting up with that at the moment. Please, Ori, can I take a nap with you?"

How could she deny him? "Yeah," she mumbled and pulled her pillow to one side of the bed. "'Night," she added as she flopped back down with her back to him and was promptly asleep again.

Had Dave—or Orianne as well for that matter—not been controlled more by their body than their mind, neither would have fallen asleep so easily. It was the position that they woke up in, however, that was disturbing.

Orianne found herself in a dream world that involved a very naked Dave Batista. He was standing behind her, his broad chest pressed into her back as he ran his hands over her shoulders and across her breasts and began nibbling her ear. He then circled her waist with his strong arms and…she woke up. The photographer was very angry that she hadn't finished the dream. Dreams definitely did not fall under any category of cheating and could and should be enjoyed without guilt. Her ear twitched and she started to reach up and scratch it but her arms were pinned down. It was then that she realized that Dave was snuggled up to her, one of his arms thrown across her hip and, in effect, holding her down. He was slightly snoring and she realized he had not intentionally pulled her to him.

She lay there in a sleepy haze, reveling in the feel of his body against hers. Was it really cheating if he was asleep and not an active participant? She twined her fingers in his and then heard his snoring stop. Instead of pulling her hand away, she waited for him to resume, indicating that she had not woken him. Dave gripped her hand tighter and then rose up on one elbow. Orianne didn't dare move.

"I know you're awake," he whispered. "You're holding your breath."

TBC…


	12. Too Much Right Now

_**Chapter XII: Too Much Right Now**_

Having been caught, Orianne exhaled loudly and shifted to her back to look at the wrestler who had her pinned down. "Dave, what are we doing?"

"I don't know," he replied with a sigh, releasing his hold on her and rubbing his eyes. "I don't have a damn clue."

"I like being with you but…" she trailed off, turning on her side to look at him.

In his post nap haze and the vivid images of a very steamy dream coming back to him, Dave knew he had to get off of that bed. "I don't know, Orianne, I just don't know," he replied while slipping on his shoes. "I'm glad you woke me up. I've got to go or I'll be late."

"Yeah," she replied, her eyes staring at the bedspread. "See ya at the arena."

"See ya," he responded and quickly let himself out.

That night at the poker game, Dave treated her as if nothing had happened. However, they were not alone for even a second. They never spent Monday with each other during the day and therefore didn't see each other until that night. It was still the same, with the exception of one thing.

"I hear you're leading the auction in bids," Batista remarked to Ric Flair. He was referencing the fundraiser that was coming up in three weeks. WWE had been getting a lot of bad press lately regarding the rating of their programming and how they were trying to market to children younger than the rating allowed. In response to show how much they cared about children's values—which was only a lie and nothing but a publicity stunt to reduce the negative opinions—WWE was holding a fundraising dinner for various youth and children's clubs and foundations in which all the wrestlers were being auctioned off for a dinner event to the highest bidding fans. A fan could bid on-line on WWE's own version of e-Bay and the highest bidder would be allowed to attend a dinner event at which they would be seated with that wrestler. Of course, each fan was required to agree to a background check simply by bidding.

"You're not doing so bad I hear," the Nature Boy responded and Dave waved him off as if it was nothing.

"You should check mine out," Shawn Michaels boasted, as he laid his bet down.

Orianne couldn't help but butt in and arrogantly added, "I'm so good they couldn't auction me off."

"Are you going?" Mike Chioda asked as he folded his hand. As a referee, he was not being bid upon and would therefore not be attending. He was hoping for a kindred spirit in that area.

"Yeah, I have to take pictures. It's my job to float around and take snapshots while precariously balanced on heels and in an evening gown."

"You're not going to the conference center alone while dressed like that, are you?" Shawn asked sternly.

"Well, I guess."

"Not anymore you're not," Batista interrupted. "I don't think Sloan would be happy with me if I let you parade through downtown looking like a million bucks."

"A million bucks is _not _what I'd look like but, yeah, I'll let you pick me up."

"But I wanted to take you," Shawn jokingly whined and then called the hand before scooping up all the chips. "But I guess I'll just have to do with taking all your chips."

"At least I wasn't the first one to go out," she replied and excused herself to refill her glass with coke and ice.

"How's that photography fundraising project?" Ric asked Orianne.

"A bear but successful," she replied over her shoulder. The photographer had submitted a money-making plan for Internet photos when she applied and now the company was using her idea to add to funds raised for the children and youth foundations. Staff from each of the venues were disbursed around the arena with digital cameras and numbered cards. The photos were uploaded to WWE's website and fans used the numbered cards to locate their photos and could then purchase prints of them. Orianne had borrowed the idea from other venues she had worked for but hers went a step further. She intentionally took photos of the wrestlers shaking hands or talking with fans ringside and then handed out the numbered cards to them. These prints went up in price but the fans were eating them up. All proceeds went to the foundations. "You guys schmooze so much ringside that I can barely keep up with y'all."

"We'll be sure to send your condolences to the fans when we ignore them now," Flair cheekily replied and they all laughed. She smiled with them, knowing the company was going to keep with her idea after the fundraiser, the profits going to the WWE. The idea had garnered her a raise, which would go into effect after the fund-raiser, and positive remarks in her employee record.

* * *

Orianne and Dave usually talked on the phone at least once a week during their days off to confirm their plans for the weekend. She was afraid to call him since he appeared to be avoiding her, which seemed to confirm her suspicions when he didn't call either. She knew he had a photoshoot Saturday morning since it was on the master photography list. Boswick was back and Orianne was glad at the moment she wasn't filling in.

Sunday was an off day, no house show but nowhere else to go but the next city. It had been a long week for her and she really hadn't had time to think about Dave avoiding her. A friend of Sloan's had been killed in action, miles away from where he was stationed, and, despite her not knowing the Major, Sloan asked her to attend the funeral on Wednesday. As a request from Sloan and the family members, she was to unobtrusively take some pictures of the graveside service. She was now scrolling through the pictures on her laptop, trying to make a decision on which ones to send to Sloan in her e-mail, when the knock sounded on her door.

Orianne checked the peephole to see Dave Batista on the other side. "Just a moment," she called, ducking into the bathroom and quickly combing her hair and tucking stray ends back into the handkerchief. She started to pick up her cosmetics but realized it was useless when the figure staring back at her was clothed in a baggy monster truck shirt and even looser University of Alabama pajama bottoms. Besides, when had she ever made a special effort with her appearance for him? She wore cold cream more times than not during the late evenings they spent together. "Yeah?" she asked, pulling the door open.

"Did we have plans today?"

"Yeah, you're an hour late," she replied, just to see his reaction.

"I'm so sorry. I've just been so distracted," he apologized, sitting onto the bed and dropping his head into his hands. Orianne truly felt badly about tricking him and she opened her mouth to set him straight when his head snapped up. "Wait. If we had plans, why are you dressed like that?"

She couldn't hold the grin in any longer. "Gotcha."

"I don't believe you," he laughed and jumped up, grabbing her and putting her into a headlock.

"No noogie, please," she squealed and Dave abruptly stopped wrestling with her as if he suddenly realized just how close they were.

He released her and backed away awkwardly but tried to recover. "So whacha doin'?" he asked, pulling off his sneakers and laying across the bed.

"Mmm, nothing," she replied as she sat down at her laptop and closed out 'My Pictures.'

"Were those yours?" Batista asked, sitting up quickly.

"Well, yeah."

"Can I see them? All I've seen is what's on the wall in your apartment."

"Then you've seen the best of my work."

"That's not true, I know you've got more," he replied, coming to stand behind her as she reopened the application. She started to get up but he leaned over her and took the attached mouse in his hand to view the pictures. He flipped through them and then came back to one in particular. A bugler stood with the instrument to his lips, the setting sun to his back casting an orange glow over the trees, while two other military personnel presented arms before a flag draped coffin. "This is beautiful," he breathed, unintentionally tickling her ear.

"It was a lucky shot," she replied in a self-deprecating tone, twisting her neck to look up at him.

"Don't talk like that. Are you going to enter this into any contests?"

"With permission of the family, I might," she shrugged as it was nothing.

"What's wrong?" he asked, slipping his hands beneath her hair and lightly rubbing her neck. He knew he shouldn't be touching her when discussing such a serious subject close to her but he couldn't help it. She had tensed up the moment he had pointed out the photo.

"This is not the first of these I've done. This one happens to be the best yet but," she sighed, "this has nothing to do with you but I just don't want what comes with it."  
"What do you mean?"

"This," she gestured at the screen and dropped her hand. "I should be so proud," she mocked. "Pride, pride, pride. This is a symbol of pride. Yeah…yeah, it is but it's a symbol of pain for me. I don't want that. I didn't sign up for all this pain."

"But isn't the love worth the pain?"

She twisted sideways in the seat and then looked up at him. "Not when your husband doesn't love you enough. Not when he tells me I'm the center of his universe and leaves me alone."

"But isn't that happens when you marry a soldier?"

"Yeah but not when he tells you he'll retire as soon as possible. He's married to his work. Not me."

"You don't have to be lonely," he said, pulling her up and hugging her close. "I know I've left you alone this week but that's because I've been trying to decide about us. I thought it best that we not seeeach other but I couldn't stand never doing this." He squeezed her tighter and then reached for her hand, twining his fingers in hers. "How can we be wrong when he's left you all alone?" Dave leaned in and kissed her temple and then the square of her jaw.

Orianne pulled away, just enough to stop him from kissing her again. "I…" she began but trailed off.

"It's too much right now," he whispered and then hugged her to him again. "What do you want to do today?"

_Throw you down on the bed and exorcise this lust you've induced in me_, she thought. "I'm so exhausted but it's about time for lunch."

"There's a Godfather marathon on today. How about we order in and watch that? You told me you hadn't seen the movies, right?" he asked, pulling back to look at her.

"That would be nice," she answered, having no other reply for what had just transpired between them.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me you were kin to that hunk of manmeat?" Cara exclaimed, hurtling towards where Orianne reclined against the black barrier ringside.

"Excuse me?"

"You're related to Dave Batista and as much as we've talked about him, you haven't told me?" The blonde's voice rose a notch or two towards the end of the question.

"Oh, well, we just found out the other day," Orianne replied, looking anywhere but at Cara, "and I didn't want to spread it around and have people think I've been favored because of him."

"But you could have told _me_! Too late now anyhow, everybody knows. So what's it like? Being kin to him?" The technician sidled up to the photographer, less angry at her than nosy.

"Um, well, a little disappointing. If Sloan and I ever get divorced, I can't pursue Dave now."

"But I heard he was only related by marriage?" Cara asked, looking at her crossways.

"Yeah, but I don't think that's right and all."

"But what's it like being around him all the time?"

"Well, the whole being married and us being kin kinda puts a damper on it," Orianne explained, checking the remainder of her film in the small bag slung over her shoulder.

"Yeah, I would guess so," Cara replied like a balloon deflating.

"If we couldn't get you to come out with us before, we definitely aren't going to get you out with us now."

"You know why I stay in, right?"

"Yeah," Cara replied with dreamy eyes, "You're pining away for your husband. God, I wish I had a relationship like that." Her eyes drifted over to Cedarius Cooper.

"Something going on there?" Orianne asked. She had been witness to their flirting disguised as banter and she knew that Cedarius wanted to be with Cara but wouldn't let himself. Cara only blushed at the photographer's question. The technician never mentioned Cedarius outside of work and Orianne was tired of waiting.

"Life is too short for you to be too embarrassed to ask him out. Take the gamble."

"And if he says 'no'?" the blonde asked in a whisper, afraid to voice her fear.

"Then what would be the difference?"

"I don't know."

"You have mooned after him for as long as I have been here. If you don't do it, I'll do it for you," the black-haired woman warned.

"Give me time. Let me work up the courage."

"Alright, but I'm warning you."

"If it don't work out with Cedarius," Cara said with a straight face. "Will you set me up Dave Batista?"

"You know he's gay, don't you?"

"He is?"

"No," Orianne replied with a laugh.

"Is that the answer to my first question or the second?" the technician dubiously queried.

"Both."

Cara hooked an arm around Orianne's shoulder. "Even if you don't hang out with us in the evening, I'm so glad that I work with you. Everyone else is way too uptight." The photographer leaned her head sideways and Cara did the same until their temples touched.

"Me too."

* * *

Anytime SmackDown! and RAW were in the same city, despite the fact that SmackDown! superstars still had to wrestle the next night, someone managed to secure a place to throw a party. The pyrotechnics crew chief lived in Phoenix and suckered his sister into letting them use her rich husband's ranchhouse and backyard. Everyone was invited but the road crew was almost always late. While much of the set remained the same, they were still certain pieces that didn't translate over into the other show. The caste system was still in effect, almost the same as at the arena. Some mingling occurred between the two groups but most everyone stayed in their own cliques.

Orianne passed on the first get-together, being extremely new to WWE. She was going to pass on this one as well, knowing that her faux relationship with Batista had circulated. No one had put two and two together about the fight between Orton and Dave and her relationship with him. Randy was too embarrassed over the situation and didn't want Orianne anymore upset for fear of the legal repercussions. She was unaware of this and wanted to be as far from him as possible in a social setting. However, Dave found a way to persuade her.

The night before, Orianne had ended up curled against Dave on the bed while he was propped up against the headboard, one arm around her, her legs thrown over his. He ran his fingertips up and down her arm in what seemed like an absent-minded manner. Yet, it was a deliberate action which turned Orianne's mouth dry and made her toes tingle. Her response, besides wondering how they had gotten this physically close, was to rub her foot over his bare shins. When in private, little touches had been passed between him. A lingering hand while passing the salt, a caress of an elbow when entering the room, a playful swat on the butt for no good reason. With the exception of his confession, this was the most intimate they had been.

"I'll drive you to the party tomorrow night if you can wait around for me to get showered and changed," Batista stated, bringing up the subject.

"Dave," she firmly replied, "I'm _not _going."

"You keep saying that," he responded with a chuckle.

"And I keep meaning it."

"What if I changed your mind?"

"I don't think that's possible," she answered but then squeaked out a small noise of surprise as his fingertips that were brushing her arm swept across the side of her breast. She instantly turned red, embarrassed over making a noise.

"Oh, really?" he asked, his hand now rubbing the outline of her breast. "I have ways of making women agree to anything I want."

"I completely believe that," she breathed as his hand now cupped her.

"Give in," he continued and then nipped her ear.

"Dave, really, this is…" Orianne lost all thought as he sucked on her lobe as his fingers teased her nipple to a peak through her shirt. She squirmed, attempting to resist this teasing attempt at making her give in.

"What?" he huskily responded. "This is what?" He completely twisted to face her and he began to toy with her other breast as he nuzzled her neck.

Orianne tried to remember what exactly she had begun to say as her hands worked their way up his chest and around his neck. Her entire body was alight with a thousand pinpricks. Her stomach was swirling and heat was pooling between her legs. Feeling the response of his own body pressing against her stomach, she realized why he was now teasing her. "I'll go," she choked out.

"I'm sorry. What?" Dave asked, nipping at her ear again.

"I'll go," she yelled and managed to push herself away.

"And it was just about to get good," he replied with a pout.

"Really, Dave, we can't do this."

"I told you I had ways of making women talk, Orianne. You made me do this." He shrugged and coolly rose from the bed to settle in one of the dinette chairs.

The woman wanted to scream at him for making her feel this way. She wasn't positive she had felt that much electricity between herself and Sloan the first time they made out. She shouldn't be feeling this way, not when she was married. Yet, the wrestler had practically induced the emotions. It wasn't like she was really at fault. How exactly is a woman supposed to respond to the Greek god that was Dave Batista when he began doing such tantalizing things to her body? She had done nothing wrong, Orianne justified, she only should have stopped him sooner.

Batista attempted to put on a cool front while his body was overheating. The first brush of her breast was only to cajole her into going—like a threat. But the minute action overrode his brain and his body took over. He was grateful that she had stopped him when she did. Who knows where they would be thirty minutes from now? The best way to deal with his hormones was to get off the bed and away from her. He had just burned her to an extent and she wouldn't get within two feet of him for the rest of the night. He wondered if she would ever come within inches of him again, which was for the best to protect her virtue. However, virtue was not exactly a concern by the end of the next night.

* * *

"Captain Anderson, sir," the sergeant saluted.

Sloan didn't look up from the equipment he was configuring. Darrell Morgan was a sycophant who was excellent at keeping his brown-nosing within the legal bounds. Problem was, he hadn't quite figured out how to keep it within respectable bounds. The Captain was hardly in the mood to hear what he had to say now but couldn't exactly decline. If he showed no interest, maybe the young man would go away. "What is it, Morgan?" he growled.

"Sir, I think there is something you need to know that's going on."

_Fantastic, a tattle-tale as well, _Sloan thought. "Shall I pin a bunny tail on the back of that uniform, Sergeant? If not, _please, _I'm busy." The older man still did not look up from the computer as he clicked away on the keyboard.

"It's about your wife, sir."

Sloan shot up from his seat and spun around to face Morgan, forcing himself not to grab the other man by the throat. "Start talking."

"You know how Curtis' brother manages to get those WWE tapes sent?" Sloan nodded and the younger man continued. "We just got some new ones today and there's this woman on there that the guys think is your wife. They're taking bets on it."

"She's a ringside photographer. Of course, she's on there."

"Uh, not like that, sir. Like she's a diva."

Anderson took in a deep breath and held it before letting it out again. His wife was not involved in the on-screen aspects of the WWE. There was just no way. It was not her job and she wasn't exactly their type to cast as a diva. "Morgan, you may want to get lost. I'm going to have some hides on my wall."

The other man nodded his head but kept his smug smile hidden as he left the Captain alone to deal with the deviants. While he may have been the tattle-tale, he would be the one Sloan remembered as not being involved in the situation with his wife.

Sloan stomped his way through the hall to common room where the men gathered for recreation. As CIS specialists, they had no trouble setting up a connection between a laptop with the burned CD of the shows and the television. The screen was paused on an almost unrecognizable image of Orianne, as she stared up from between Triple H's legs.

"Alright, here's the count so far. Johnson for ten, Alvarez for eleven…" the soldier trailed off as he sighted Sloan. One of them scrambled to turn off the television and close the laptop.

"No, don't let me stop you. Why don't you rewind that and let me see what exactly prompted y'all to start taking bets," Anderson ordered with his arms folded across his chest. When no one moved, he added, "Don't make me do it."

Johnson then quickly rose from his seat at the table and hurried over to switch everything back on. Sloan was right behind him, hiding the television from the small group as he watched the scene play out. The woman on the screen seemed to only be his wife by her dark blue eyes, her raven black hair, and her limp only perceptible to him. It was Orianne. If it wasn't so embarrassing to see his wife's boobs hanging out, he might have admitted that she was downright sexy. Yet, this was no way for her to be acting, especially when this was broadcast into millions of homes. Yes, it was a character but she looked and acted like a whore. If he could go home, he would jerk her up and give her a good talking to.

When the scene ended, Johnson paused the video and Sloan took a moment to size up Batista. This was the man to which he had entrusted his wife's safety. She had only glowing words to say about him and he expected a level of protection for Orianne from Dave Batista simply based on the fact no one would mess with him. He had casually asked a few of the fans on the base what they thought about Batista and everyone had only good things to say about him as well. Learning that he was a sex symbol for the women, he had a brief moment of concern but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came because he trusted his wife with their marriage. Studying the Heavyweight Champion, he wondered what he had even briefly worried. The man's ears were way too big for his head, his eyes too small for his face, and his lips non-existent. She wouldn't find him attractive.

Sloan did an about face and stared down at the guilty group. "Yes, that is my wife and if I get wind of any one of you collecting money on that…" he trailed off. "You know exactly what will happen." The Captain stalked off to see what he could do about making a secure on-line phone call, something that was extremely rare. RAW hadn't started yet back home and he should be able to catch her on her cellphone.

TBC…


	13. What Did You Just Say?

**Rating Warning: **This chapter also contains one cuss word that would raise the rating by a notch. No one objected last time but I wanted to issue the warning again and offer a censored chapter—just e-mail me. Also, I have to give credit for that little verbal slip and the situation surrounding it to a friend of mine, Hope, who actually did say those exact words. You'll see. ;)

_**Chapter XIII: What Did You Just Say?**_

Cara Whitfield was climbing back out from under the ring when she saw the look of horror cross Orianne's face as she checked the callerID on her cellphone. The technician was afraid to move and slipped back under, barely peering out from under the bottom of the black curtain. The photographer anxiously answered the phone but then breathed a visible sigh of relief. Then almost instantly her face screwed up in anger and she clenched the hand that wasn't holding the phone. From what Cara could tell, Orianne only replied in terse words before clapping the phone shut and shoving it in her pocket. The technician carefully scrambled around to adjoining side of the ring where Orianne wouldn't see her climb out. She didn't know how to respond to such a phone call and thought it best to let it come out naturally.

Shortly into the show, even after the opening segment, it was obvious that Orianne was still in a livid state of mind. Cara casually asked Cedarius if he knew what was wrong but he had no answer. During one of the longer commercial breaks, the blonde quickly sidled up to the other woman. "Are you feeling well?"

"Yeah," Orianne replied with a smile but her crinkled forehead gave away the lie.

"You just don't look like you feel well."

"Oh, there's just some issues going on at home that are best left unaddressed. I guess I let them get to me. I'll try to be less of a sourpuss."

"No, no, no," Cara corrected. "I was just concerned about you."

Batista picked up on her ire immediately as well. This time she unleashed her fury. "He had the gall to call me to threaten me. 'I better not do that again'," she mocked, her voice rising in intensity. "Like I would get the chance to," she muttered.

The best response on Dave's part was to reach across the car and rub the back of her neck. "He's just being protective of you," he said but held up his hand at seeing the fury return to her face. "Maybe because he can't control any aspect of his life or yours while he's over there that he tries to control what he can, trying to protect you from across the ocean. I know that doesn't give him an excuse. I just want you to see where he's possibly coming from whether or not you agree with him. Stop gritting your teeth."

"I'm not—" She suddenly stopped. Yes, she was gritting her teeth and it would only give her a headache. Dave's explanation for how controlling Sloan had become seemed to make perfect sense. However, she was never one to be controlled. She was a free, independent individual, to which Sloan would reply that was why he was still serving in the Air Force.

"Do you still want to go tonight?" he asked, pulling into an open spot with the other vehicles lining the long gravel drive.

"We're already here," she said with a sigh.

"I'll take you back."

"After all you did to get me here?" she asked with a lascivious grin and slid out of the car. "It'll be good to hang out with other people for awhile."

"What? You don't like my company?" he asked, pinching her on the butt as they made their way up to the house.

Upon seeing Cara and Cedarius, she casually split from him after joining everyone else in the spacious backyard. Dave didn't complain because he knew it would be good for them to be seen apart in case they were seen together at other times. It would seem less like they were stuck to each other, which was practically the case. "Hey, girlie," Cara greeted her and hugged her with one arm. "Get yourself something to drink." The blonde nodded in the direction of a large table set up beside a wall of the house and held enough alcohol to intoxicate everyone on the premises twice over.

Orianne instinctively started to decline but then realized she really could do with anything that had liquor in it. If she could, she'd start downing shots. "Yeah, be back in a minute." The guy behind the table was whom she knew to "act" as the official timekeeper and ring the bell at ringside. "Margarita, a little heavy on the tequila, please."

"Uh, yeah," he replied and started picking through the bottles of liquor. Orianne turned away and surveyed everyone at the party. She noticed Randy Orton on the far side of the patio and her stomach squirmed. He caught her eye at the same time but simply turned away. "Here you go," the bartender interrupted and handed the mixed drink off to her.

"Thanks," she muttered and headed back towards the group with Cedarius and Cara. Orainne needed to be with people; she couldn't be a lonely soul. Yet, she didn't have to be the life of the party or even the one doing the talking. It was simply enjoying another's company. She smiled at Cedarius, who complimented her white embroidered cotton blouse, and sipped her drink. The woman barely turned away from him before she choked and spit the drink back out. "What is this?"

"I wouldn't know. You ordered it," Cara sarcastically commented.

"This is awful. What do y'all have?" she asked before realizing they had beer bottles but one other person who replied that hers was a Coke. "I'm not drinking this. I'll be back." As a former amateur bartender, she was offended by the concoction in her red Dixie cup. "Dude, what did you do to this?"

"It's bad, isn't it?" he whined.

"No, duh."

"James was supposed to be here already. He's supposed to be doing this and I don't know where he's at. I covered for him when everybody was griping about having to mix their own drinks but nobody's come back for one since—thank god!"

Orianne had no idea why she was about to do this but she replied, "Move. I'll get it."

"You will?"

"Yeah, move on." The man grabbed her by the shoulders and planted a quick, hard kiss on her lips and hurried off. "Uh, yeah," she muttered and wiped her mouth.

After finding an appropriate place to pour out her cup, the photographer proceeded to make herself another one—the first margarita she had mixed in over seven years. She surveyed the types of liquor, perused the beer selection, attended to the shakers, and then checked the amount of ice. It felt good to be standing behind a "bar" again. To hell with Sloan, she thought, and reached for one of the jello shots on the poker table adjacent to the folding table. Slurping it back, she found that the tequila accented lime jello went rather well with her freshly made drink.

When it got around that another person was bartending, the requests started coming in. The orders started to get a little more complicated when they found that she knew how to make more than just daiquiris, margaritas, and Bahama Mamas. At first, she was a little hesitant to assume she remembered all the ingredients and proportions and had to pour a little bit into her own cup to sample. Before long, she found herself swaying to music and reaching for a fresh set of jello shots delivered by their hostess. Having completely forgotten about James, the bartender who was supposed to be there, she slucked back the shot and then wondered what she could mix to complement the peppermint flavored and vodka soaked gelatin.

Suddenly feeling the need to visit the restroom, Orianne beckoned Cara over. The blonde had already come by earlier to find out why the photographer had never returned. She nicely but firmly told Orianne it wasn't her job and that she should enjoy herself. The problem was that black-haired woman had very much been enjoying herself, pouring drinks, interacting with people, and making them happy…or tipsy, which was all the same. "I'm running to the ladies' room. If anybody comes by, I'll be back in a moment." Cara nodded in response. "I'll make you anything you want," Orianne offered and made her way to the house.

The woman knew she had already had a little too much when she attempted to navigate the steps up the porch to the sliding glass doors. Anything that required certain steps would need some care. When she almost missed the toilet seat sitting down, having to grab the edge of the tub to right herself, she knew she had to back off on the drinks. Maybe she had lost some of her tolerance. As she was about to return, the hostess stopped her and asked her to carry out another tray of jello shots since the last one had disappeared much quicker than expected. The bartender couldn't say 'no', so she carefully made her way down the steps and to the table uneventfully where Cara was waiting.

Dave had seen the way Orianne cautiously took the steps one at a time on the way in and then noticed her return. Before he could get out of the group he was talking with, she had already made it off the patio with the jello shots. He knew her well enough to know that she had had a little too much. No, she probably wouldn't be dancing on the table with her top off. She had admitted that she became a talkative drunk who then withdrew into herself but finally becoming too sick at her stomach to keep drinking. She had only passed out that once and woken with a hangover only then. However, that had been over seven years ago. He didn't feel he needed to stop her from drinking anymore, especially since he was driving and the worst she was doing was swaying to music. Yet, he promised himself he'd watch her a little more closely just in case.

The party had only been in full swing for a couple of hours—another reason for Orianne's concern over how much alcohol she had already consumed. It would last for several more and, therefore, the request for drinks had yet to slow down. Yet, every time she pointed out which tub of ice held which beer, she passed by the unique creation of jello shots—coke and rum this time—something she had never had. Finally, she gave in, picked one up, silently toasted Sloan, and tossed it back. "Wow," she mumbled and made a mental note, one she would forget anyhow, to ask how these had been made. What was worse was when the Jack and coke shots appeared. Those were new to her as well. College kids had only been able to pull off the most basic of jello shots and she absolutely couldn't resist. Now, after having lost count of the drinks and shots, she had borrowed a patio chair and kicked back to keep her eyes from swimming.

"Orianne?"

"Yeah," she answered and swiveled her head to see Mike Chioda standing on the other side of the table.

"Do you know how to make a Singapore Sling?"

Orianne's mouth began to immediately water. Yes, she did but it was something that she rarely made because it required seven different liquors, one being the high elusive cherry brandy. In college anytime she could get her hands on cherry brandy, which was rare, she made herself a Sling. "Yeah, but I don't know if we have what we need." She scooted the chair forward, jerking it along in the grass, to where another box of alcohol was under the table. She hadn't gone through it, assuming it was only more of what was out on the table, which had gotten her through the night so far. Counting off the ingredients in her head that were already out, she cried for joy as she found the cherry brandy. "Look at that," she exclaimed, holding up the bottle and carefully standing.

Orianne had never figured out how she could still mix drinks when drunk. She still had her wits about her; it was usually her physical faculties and her reticence that went first. So, here she was pouring the complicated drink for Mike. "You sure you want this? Won't you get in trouble with your fiancée?"

Mike's wedding was in three weeks and it seemed the leash had been reeled in a little tighter. He was pussywhipped but he readily admitted it because he actually enjoyed it. "She's not as bad as you think. It's just bars and clubs she doesn't want me going to."

"No problem," the photographer replied and tipped just a little bit of the drink into her own cup to taste. "God, that is so good," she muttered, letting the heat of the drink slid down her throat and into her already full stomach.

"Thanks," Mike said and took the red plastic cup from her.

Orianne pulled her chair away from the table of liquors and sat back down. She thought about how she didn't need the temptation of being that close as she licked her lips and still tasted the drink. While it was probably only her imagination, the taste of the Singapore Sling wouldn't go away. It could be a very long time before she found cherry brandy again. Yes, she could go buy it but she definitely would never bow to that temptation. "What the hell," she muttered. If she was going to drink, she might as well go all the way. To justify it, the woman promised she would never drink again after this, so she really did have to make the Sling.

Singing along with the Nickelback song on the speakers, Orianne tapped her good foot and greedily mixed the drink. "Perfect," she said out loud, taking the first sip.

"What's perfect?"

"Hi, Dave," she cheerily replied and took a wary step, not wanting him to know that she was over the line and about to go even farther.

"That drink for you?"

"Oh, yes, sir, it is," she replied and took one long swig. It was beyond delicious.

"Had enough yet?"

"In all reality, no because I haven't forgotten about Sloan. The fact that I don't get drunk that way, then maybe, yes, I have," she answered and tipped the cup back again.

"Here," Batista said and offered her the white patio chair.

"Thanks," she replied with a grin and carefully sat down.

Dave leaned against the wall of the house and lifted his own cup to his lips, only his second of the night. "Having fun?"

"Absolutely," she answered, raising her cup to him in a type of salute. He chuckled in response. "How about you?"

"Yeah, I actually am."

"'Bout time you got your ass out with friends."

"I see enough of them during the shows. I'd rather be with you."

"Aren't you sweet?" she replied and propped her feet up on the table where there were no ice bins or open bottles.

The two of them stayed that way for a few minutes, saying nothing and only watching the scene around them. Orianne was thinking about how she would like nothing more than to go back to the hotel and curl up with him for a nap, which then actually meant simply sleeping together for the night.

Dave was considering whether or not he really wanted to be here anymore. It was good to be out with friends but he wanted his hands in Orianne's silky hair or all over her body. He justified being with her the way they were because he knew he could never have her. His heart wouldn't be broken in the process because he couldn't set himself up for the fall. Knowing full well in the beginning that they would never be together completely or forever was much different than what he had with Gabrielle. When Orianne left him, he would be anticipating it and would therefore walk away. Of course he would miss her but he would stonewall his emotions of expectation now and just enjoy being with her.

Orianne drained the last dregs of the cup and tossed the cup towards the garbage can that was beside the beer table, missing by a foot. "I'm going to the ladies' room. Hold the fort down?"

"No problem," Dave replied and gestured toward the deck that led into the house. He had to chuckle at how slow Orianne was moving but deep down he worried that she was going to trip and fall flat on her face. It would serve her right, though, for drinking so much if she did. After some time, he noticed her emerge through the sliding glass doors and firmly grasp the handrail leading down to the yard. She missed the second to last step and bounced down the rest, still amazingly on her feet. He laughed out loud when she jerked her head up, looked around to see if anyone was watching, and then blew out a sigh of relief.

When the photographer arrived at the table, she smiled at Batista and settled in the patio chair. She brushed at a spot on her white blouse and noticed that she had scraped her arm and managed to spill something dark on the edge of the shirt. "Fu—" she started but then clamped her mouth firmly shut. She looked up at Dave with a broad grin and said, "I almost S-A-I-D 'fuck'."

"Okay, that's it. We're leaving," he replied, trying to keep a straight face. He thought that was quite the funniest thing that ever came out of her mouth. If he started laughing at her, he may never get her out of there. "Go tell Cara 'bye' and I'll let Carlito and Edge know we're leaving, okay?" Orianne nodded, not quite sure of what was going on. Oh, well, if Dave was ready to leave, she would go on whether or not James had arrived, which apparently was not going to happen.

By the time they were to the car, Orianne began to become sick at her stomach. She moaned slightly as they climbed into the car and Dave asked about her. "Just a little sick," she replied.

"If you're going to be sick, let me know so I can pull over. The cleaning fees on these rentals are a bitch," he replied but then added a grin.

"I won't puke, I promise," Orianne replied, taking him seriously, and hunkered lower in the seat. When Dave pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, she announced with a moan, "I drank way too much. I think I mixed some stuff I shouldn't have."

"Really, you think so?" he joked.

"Don't kid with me. I'm really sick," she replied and slowly climbed out of the car. "Help me to my room."

Dave wrapped an arm around her waist and half carried her to the elevator before picking her up and toting her to her room.

"Oh my god," she moaned, curling up into a ball when he laid her down on the bed. She fumbled for the button on her jeans but couldn't move to get them off. "I can't even sit up. What the hell was I thinking?"

Dave stared down at her and scratched his head in thought. Well, there was nothing else he could do for her and stated, "Here, let me." She raised her hips up just enough for him to get the jeans down to her knees and then curled back into a fetal position. "C'mon," he coaxed after untying the ribbon at the neck of her blouse and helped her lean up just enough to pull the blouse up and over her head. She immediately balled up again with a moan. He pawed through her suitcase and found an oversized t-shirt that he barely got pulled over her head before she protested that it hurt too much. Now he was beginning to worry about her. Simply pulling the trash can close did nothing to allay his fears that she might be violently sick. He cursed Sloan for pissing her off enough to drive her to drink like this and he shucked his clothes down to his boxers and climbed into the bed beside Orianne. She was now still and he hoped she was asleep. He propped himself up on the pillows and reached for the remote control until he was sleepy enough to curl up beside her.

Surprisingly, as long as she didn't move a lot, Orianne was only a little nauseated in the morning, with the exception of the thought of food, which she wholly declined until the early afternoon. By then, she was also walking straight and her mouth no longer felt like cotton. The woman was pleasantly astonished to find Dave in her bed in the morning but he was quickly up and gone when he figured out that she was going to be fine. That was all right because she was highly embarrassed over how much she had lost control. However, she couldn't help but think about how wonderful it was to wake up to a warm body in her bed, especially Dave Batista at that.

TBC…


	14. This Isn't Wrong, Right?

**Author's Notes: **Given what we see on television, I don't think this chapter would need to be rated much higher than what the story is currently rated at. Just in case, to keep me from worrying about what the admin would do….

**_Chapter XIV: This Isn't Wrong, Right?_**

While Quinn was the chief photographer for RAW's photography crew, he also served as the chief photographer of the company. Jennifer McNay assigned photoshoots but then he oversaw the necessities for them. Orianne had once again been roped into two photoshoots, one quite possibly the most important for the divas' division—the yearly calendar. The second was for the diva contestant winner, her first with the company. As the photographer, Orianne was solely responsible for the theme and had been wracking her brain for weeks as to what to choose. Everything she could think of had already been done recently. Creating themes was not her forte, another reason she wasn't a studio photographer. Within a week and a half, too late to book any major location, she was struck with the idea of doing it on her family's farm. All she had to do was pick twelve different scenes around the property involving horses and let the women have at it. They were going to hate the local hotel but that was life. At least they would only need to stay for one night as she managed to work the event into shifts for three days.

Orianne was given the following weekend off and she invited Dave to visit Prescott and stay at the Thomases' the last night of the shoot. To her surprise, he agreed, even if it meant that he had to keep his hands to himself. However, the night before he was to arrive, the photographer was surprised to see a rental car pull up in her parents' driveway and the hottest man on the planet step out. She was almost finished with a bikini-clad Lita, who was hanging provocatively on the fencepost of the corral while Deacon was leading Aramis on a guide rope around the inside. Every time the silvery white horse would gallop by, Orianne would catch as many shots as possible.

"Look who's here. It's your bodyguard," Lita joked when Orianne paused, staring over her right shoulder.

"Oh, no," the photographer said under her breath. She was never going to keep the divas _and_ Dave Batista away from her parents at the same time. If any one of them mentioned their being related, spurred by his presence, she was screwed with him there. "We're done here, Lita. Thanks so much," Orianne said and then called to Deacon that they were finished for the day. He tipped his hat to her and touched the brim before reigning Aramis in. The camera crew and her assistants began packing up as well.

"Surprise," Dave said with a grin when he was within feet of Orianne. She was so glad to see him that she couldn't be mad at him.

"Yeah," she replied and gave him a one-armed hug, catching sight of her sister, who wasn't there before, bouncing up and down on her toes on the porch of the house. Olivia had skipped school for these three days, much to everyone's consternation, to be here for the diva shoot. She was falling all over herself to help and Orianne really couldn't deny her that when she was already here. "Meet my sister. Olivia!" she called.

Her little sister came rushing over, barely skidding to stop in front of Batista. "Hi," she said, holding out her hand and vigorously shaking Dave's. "I'm Olivia."

"Wipe the drool," Orianne leaned over and whispered in her ear, suddenly insanely jealous. Olivia blushed a deep red and took a step back. Her older sister hadn't meant to embarrass her that deeply, only begin to dissuade her from thinking she had any chance with Dave. It wasn't right of her but she didn't want to share Dave with anyone else right now and if he was attracted to the older sister, he might be attracted to a younger woman the spitting image of her and much less scarred by life physically and emotionally.

"Can I do anything for you, get you some iced tea?" Olivia asked.

"Tea would be fantastic." The younger woman nodded and rushed off. "You didn't have to embarrass her like that," Dave whispered to Orianne.

"Sorry if I'm jealous but I don't want another woman moving into my territory," she replied with a smile. He could take that statement however he chose. "Be prepared. Mom and Dad will follow."

"Will you be jealous of them too?" he asked with a smirk.

"Come have your tea on the front porch, young man," Marian Thomas called out lightly as she exited the house with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of tea followed by her husband and youngest daughter. Orianne raised her eyebrows and took a deep breath before leading him to meet her parents.

"Mom, Dad, this is Dave Batista. Dave, this is Marian and Carter Thomas."

"Mr. Thomas, Mrs. Thomas," he greeted, nodding his head to each and taking Carter's outstretched hand in his. Orianne's father could have possibly rivaled Batista in height before the bull-riding accident but that didn't take away from his broad shoulders or the genuine smile that crossed his wrinkled face. Her mother was tall and stately and held herself proudly, not a wrinkle in her pleated pants and white, pearl embroidered blouse. Her black hair had now turned grey but her blue eyes sparkled as if she was still twenty, much like her husband's. Marian reached out her hand and Dave said, "Now I know why Orianne is so beautiful."

"Oh, shush, now, and drink your tea. And, please, call us by our given names," her mother gushed, indicating he should take a seat and then pouring the tea.

"I need to finish up with the shooting," the photographer said as her family settled in with Dave on the veranda. "I'll be back."

Orianne headed off to make sure that everything was packed up and Lita found everything she needed in the guesthouse before the car came to pick her up and take her back to the hotel. Passing by her brother, she called, "Dave's here a day early. Go meet him. Mom's got fresh tea."

"Think he'd be up for a cold beer?" Orrin asked, wrinkling his nose at the idea of tea. While he was a true Southerner who could guzzle sweet tea by the gallon, he had had a long day with the livestock, which were a little nervous at all the activity around them.

"Later, I'm sure," she replied, walking on past him. Somehow, Orrin managed a beer for them after dinner. He, Dave, and Carter sat outside on the veranda, sipping the frosty beverages—tea for Carter—and enjoying the light fall breeze while Marian had roped her daughters into cleaning up after dinner.

"I didn't expect your friend," Marian stated. "I'm glad your father was willing to go to the grocery store and pick up more food."

"Well, Mom, I didn't expect him either."

"Well, he is a pleasant man anyhow."

_Just come out and say it, Mom! _Orianne wanted to shout. _He inconvenienced you and you're being jealous for Sloan. _She had no idea how her mother would react if she found out they were hiding being "related" to each other. By the time the dishes were done, Orianne was tired of being home and couldn't wait to retire to the guest house.

"Where is Dave staying tonight?" Marian asked, interrupting her daughter's thoughts regarding the wrestler.

"I made up a room in the guest house."

"He's staying with _you _in the guest house?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Orianne!" she chided.

"We _are _adults and I _am _married.

"And that is my point. I'll make up your old room and you can stay there tonight."

There was no point in arguing with her. "I've got the room set up exactly how I want it for the shoot. I'll take care of it when I get back." Orianne had managed to slip the photoshoot for the diva contestant winner in on Friday to keep from having to move locations at another time. She had borrowed Olivia's and Orrin's high school mementos and set them up in her old room, along with her own things from high school, to portray the typical senior's room. The winner would be stuck in an under-sized cheerleader outfit come tomorrow afternoon and posing provocatively on the photographer's twin bed. She found the insinuation disgusting but it was an idea pushed upon her.

"Don't wait up for me either," her daughter added. "Since Dave came all this way to see _me_, we'll be out late." With the last dish in place, a stoic Marian disappeared to ask the guys if they needed anything else. "How do you do it?" Orianne asked Olivia.

"She never picks at me like that."

Her older sister sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Do you think it's because I didn't want to go into the family business?"

"I think it's because you're so independent. She's just so conservative and you're so…I don't know, liberal's the wrong word."

"I know what you mean."

"You and Dave going out tonight?"

"No, we'll just probably hang out in the guest house."

"Oh," Olivia disappointedly replied.

"He'll be around tomorrow," Orianne comforted.

Goodnights were said and the photographer and wrestler slipped off to the guest house. "Your mother is a trip. She's so…so…" Dave trailed off, crashing on her over-sized couch.

"Passive-aggressive?" she asked, pushing the recliner back with a big sigh.

"Exactly."

"Are you really staying at your parents' tonight?"

"Yes," she answered with another sigh. "I'll never hear the end of it if I don't."

"Did you pull the blinds and lock the door anyhow?"

"Yes," she replied, jumping up from the recliner and pouncing on him and straddling his waist.

"You look awfully nice today," he said, running his hands over the butt of her tight jeans and slipping his fingers underneath the hem of her gauzy sleeveless blouse.

"Did you know that they make a video of the shoot and sell it too?" He nodded all too readily. "I found out the first morning and quickly changed into something else since it seems I'll be in some of the footage."

"Ooo, I may have to buy it," he replied, sitting up and holding her close before laying her back. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. He pushed her shirt up to expose her stomach and then kissed her bellybutton.

"That tickles," she giggled.

"How about this?" he murmured against her stomach and began to trail hot kisses up to her bra.

Orianne was in heaven and in shock at the same time. "Dave," she breathed looking in his cloudy almond-colored eyes, "this could go too far."

"I won't take it any further, I promise," he said and slipped his hands beneath her back to undo the fastener to her bra. He pulled her shirt up over her head and slipped her bra off her shoulders. Dave stopped for a moment to just look at her naked from the waist up. Her nipples were already taut peaks from the cool air and the desire that was obvious in her eyes.

Dave's mouth closed over one nipple and began to knead her other breast. She arched her back and moaned and he pressed his hips harder into hers. This time she didn't even try to rationalize her feelings and gave into the pleasure that radiated out from his lips and fingertips. He had no idea in hell what he was doing but he knew that he had to have his hands and mouth on her. He thought he would burst if he couldn't take her but he had made the promise he wouldn't go beyond this. What was worst was the thought, that although this painful pleasure could never become otherwise, he would never touch her at all. He rained kisses all over her chest before moving to her other breast and lavishing the same attention on it. She moaned deeper and tightened her legs even more around his waist. He groaned low in the back of his throat and knew he should stop. Slowing drawing away from her, he cupped her face with both of his large hands and rubbed her temples with his thumbs. Her legs grew slack and he missed the feel of her ankles locked across his butt.

She closed her eyes and an "mmm" escaped her lips. "This isn't wrong because we're not having sex, right?"

"Yeah," he replied and kissed her forehead. He had yet to kiss her on the lips and was afraid of how far that would drive him. Anyone could fool around but kisses were the connecting of souls while sex was the finality of soul and body. Maybe he _was_ a metrosexual, he thought to himself.

* * *

Dave had nothing to do the next day while Orianne was photographing the last of the divas. He felt rather useless but it was nice to do nothing away from his apartment and D.C. and just lounge on her couch and watch television. Every so often, he would peek out her window to watch her wherever they were filming. For the last shoot, she had Victoria in a bikini, boots with spurs, and a cowboy hat, flicking a riding whip. Orianne herself was in boots with another pair of tight jeans and a black, spaghetti strap top. He was glad she was getting into the spirit of things by dressing sexier than she would have had the shoot not been filmed. When she signaled to the cameraman that it was a wrap, Dave slipped on a pair of jogging shoes and went out to meet her with a cold soda.

"Thanks," she said, popping the top and then taking a long swig.

"So, now what?" he asked.

"You're bored, aren't you?"

"Only slightly."

"Lunch with my mother wasn't an event?" Orianne suspiciously asked.

"Only when she decided to tell me about how little the divas eat and how she would like to feed them some good home cooking."

"I bet she fed you a veritable buffet." Dave nodded in response and laughed. "When Orrin played football, she stuffed him full. I know she's planning something huge tonight. Dad's starting to fire up the grill _already_."

"Sounds good."

"It'll still be a few hours yet. Let me change and I'll show you around."

"Just don't change out of those jeans," he whispered in her ear where no one could hear. She could only laugh in reply.

Orianne kept her low-heeled boots and jeans but opted for a t-shirt and tied her hair back with a red handkerchief. She introduced him to the ranch hands as they walked around the barn and stables. With an ear-splitting whistle, she called Aramis, who came galloping as if he could smell the sugar cubes she had swiped for him. The horse seemed to be genuinely disinterested in Dave while he rubbed his head all over Orianne. He changed his tune when she gave Dave the cubes and showed him how to hold his hand out flat for the horse to keep from being accidentally nipped. She offered to let him ride Colossus, the largest appaloosa horse she had even seen and knew would have no problem with his size. But he immediately declined; never been on a horse and never wanted to be. So they were in Orrin's Range Rover as she navigated the fields to show him the gorgeous scenery and the creeks that ran throughout the property. She pulled over and climbed out to show him the stream that divided their land from what was the farm of her former best friend's family.

Half an hour later, they somehow found themselves both shirtless, lying on the clothing and listening to the trickling water from the small knoll beside the stream. This time she was touching and exploring his broad chest as well. Smooth, firm muscles twitched under her fingertips and her lips left scorching trails across his burning skin. It was almost as if he was alight with a fever. When he could stand it no longer, he sat up from where she straddled him and pulled her close. Time stood still while he held her, bare skin upon skin.

Sex with her husband wasn't even this exhilarating and her emotions began to run wild. This difference between the two men wasn't right. It had to be the secrecy, the illicit actions. But what if it wasn't? She pulled back from his embrace to look him in the eyes. "Dave, is _this_, is…I know it's not right and it's not wrong but…the feelings…would sex…if we…" She couldn't find the words, couldn't express the thoughts that she hoped would come together if she spoke them aloud.

"What is it, Ori?" he softly asked, using her nickname again. She could melt every time he did.

"Nothing. It's time to go," she replied, extricating herself from him and reaching for her bra and shirt. She had them pulled on and climbing into the Rover before he realized what had just happened. She didn't want to talk about it right now and he saw no point in pushing her when they were expected at dinner in less than forty-five minutes. They were covered in dirt, dust, and hay from the tour of the farm and would need to make themselves presentable. At least the grass from their romp beside the creek was lost among the debris from earlier.

Only by paying close attention to Orianne during dinner could anyone tell something was wrong with her. Marian was too busy playing hostess, which she excelled at, and gathering attention to herself with guests present. Olivia was closely following in her mother's footsteps in regards to her hosting abilities. Therefore, Orianne was not at the top of their list of concerns. Orrin was the typical twenty-nine year old who had been saddled with the family business at too young of an age—in his mind, he was going down a list of what needed to be done tomorrow: the new horse shod, a bandage changed on the leg of another, a run to the feed store, and payroll to be cut all the while wondering which horse he would ride in the homecoming parade this coming weekend. Carter and Dave seemed to be the only two who noticed. She was daddy's girl and the only one in the family who truly understood her.

"Baby girl," Carter softly said as everyone filed out of the kitchen. "Come with me."

"I have to help clean up."

"Marian, I need to stretch and I'm gonna take one of the girls with me. Orianne, will you walk down the pasture with me."

"Sure, daddy," she replied, noticing the look of disappointment in Olivia's eyes when he had asked her older sister. Olivia was still a little immature and she was simply upset because her father hadn't asked her this time even though she was the one to walk with him when she was home from the university.

Outside of the dining room in the hall, Carter beckoned to Dave and Orrin. "I stashed some beers in the cooler in the storage shed with my fishing gear. Why don't the two of you finish them off?" he asked with a wink. Orianne stifled a laugh because her mother would have a dying duck fit if she knew he was carrying beer with him to fish. Her twin brother nodded with a grin and Dave followed him out with one last glance over his shoulder as Orianne helped her father down the steps on the porch. "Going to rain," he stated with a groan as they reached the ground.

"Yep," she simply replied.

"How ya feeling these days?" he asked, taking her arm more for comfort than physical necessity as they set off towards one of the shorter fields.

"Apparently much better than you," she said, a pang stabbing at her heart as to how much his arthritis had taken over. He was still much too young to be going through this.

"Tell me what it is, baby girl," he softly prodded when they were out of earshot.

"I'm just tired." He didn't ask her to clarify but continued walking. "I just want my life back. I want everything we thought it would be." It was true. She was tired of fighting within herself. As much as she wanted to be with Dave Batista, she would give him up for the fulfillment of the whispered promises between two engaged lovers but it was never going to happen. Orianne suddenly stopped walking and threw her arms around her father.

"I know, baby girl, I know," he soothed and rubbed her back. She didn't cry but he rocked her gently until she pulled away. "You come to me before it gets this bad again. I know you can't stay around right now and I'm not convinced that you're going to be completely okay but I'm sure that Dave fellow will take care of you. Still, you come to me and we'll talk."

Orianne nodded and they slowly walked back to the house again to greet Orrin and Dave as they sipped the last of the contraband alcohol.

"What're y'all doing tonight, sis?" Orrin asked after their father had ambled on into the house.

"Thought I could take Dave down to the Watering Hole 'cause there's absolutely nothing to do around here." The Watering Hole was the local bar that had a little of everything, alcohol, dancing, pool, darts, and big screen TVs.

"Don't tell Olivia. She's talked non-stop about you today, Dave."

"We're about as dressed for the occasion as you can get," she said, gesturing at their jeans and pull-overs. "Let's get out of here. See ya, Orrin."

"Here, you drive since you know where you're going," Batista said, pulling the keys to the rented Maserati out of his pocket and tossing them at her before she could protest. Once in the car, Dave asked, "Orrin still live at home?"

"He moved back in when he had to take over for Dad. He uses the guest house for dates," she answered with a wink.

"If it's possible for two people to look exactly alike but be completely feminine and masculine, I've decided it's the two of you, right down to the freckles."

"I'll take that as a compliment since women fall all over him."

"You and your dad close?"

"Yeah, kinda. It's just that dad gets me and mama doesn't. It's not anything like you and your parents." Dave was extremely close with his family. It had to be the Greek side of him as they were so tightknit. According to Orianne's perception, if their family gatherings could be put into a greeting card, it would be too syrupy to sell.

When Orianne pulled up into the parking lot, she circled twice for a parking spot and then blew out a big breath. "We don't have to be here," Dave stated.

"Yeah, I'm not parking on the side of the road with this thing. God knows what would happen to it. Wanna a grand tour of Prescott?"

"Fine with me," he replied. Orianne drove around the small town, pointing out the high school, the football stadium, the deserted downtown, and the only city park.

"And that's about it," she said.

Dave could still tell that something was wrong. She didn't get whatever it was settled with her father. "You got anywhere to go so we can talk besides back at your house?"

"Uh, yeah, there's the Point," she said with a blush. "It should be deserted. The boys are superstitious about having sex the night before a big ball game and we're playing our rivals tomorrow night. It's Homecoming."

Dave remembered that superstition as well. He hadn't exactly abided by it and nothing bad ever came out of it. He wasn't the only one to break the rule as well but no one dared get caught breaking it because the team would have blamed him if they lost. "Wherever," he replied.

The Point was actually a secluded overlook from what could have been called a mountain. Truth be told it was deserted and Orianne carefully pulled the car in and cut the engine. She climbed out of the vehicle and situated herself on the hood. Dave followed and then wrapped an arm around her. "What is it? Something happened out in that field between us and I don't know what it is," he softly explained.

"When you asked about Sloan that night," she was referring to the night in the café where he accused her husband of beating her, "I didn't tell you everything." She felt him stiffen and quickly added. "It's not what you think. It's about sex." Dave said nothing and decided to let her proceed at her own pace. "Sex sucks. Apparently not for him because he can get off on it. But me? I was a virgin on our wedding night. I didn't know what to expect but it sure can't be what we have. The first couple of years I just thought it was because I didn't know what I was doing. When I brought it up, it seemed to embarrass him. He said he couldn't talk about these things with a psychiatrist and that we'd work on it. He's home so little that it's not something we can work on long-term, so I just started faking it. Yes, I'm turned on by my husband or I wouldn't have married him. It's just that we haven't ever fit together like I thought we should."

Dave wanted to ask, 'Why are you telling _me _this?' The wrestler only blinked off into the distance and waited because he could feel she had more to say.

"I know you must be wondering why I'm telling you this. It seems that you've been the only person I can be this open with and…" she trailed off. "You turn me on in ways that Sloan never has." She turned her body to face him and he instinctively turned towards her as well. "Since I'm being so damned honest, I might as well keep going. I've often thought that if I could just have an affair, a one night stand and test it. Is it me? Is it him? Is it the two of us together? I tell you this because I don't want you to think anything weird about me—like you don't already—when we…well, you know… And I want you to know that you are not my test case." She stopped, trying to search his eyes for what he was thinking. "Besides, once you've had a piece of me, it couldn't be for one night only," she added with a laugh to ease up the tension.

Dave chuckled a little but then his face grew serious. He had become so enamored with her that, of course, he wanted to have sex with her. He wanted to fill her lonely bed but it was not something he could do. He had some morals after all. Yet, all his principles flew out the window when he was around her. This did not help at all now. It helped explain some things he had noticed about her but it only made him want her even more, to show her how her body should be worshipped, what it was like to truly know passion from another human being. He wanted to hate Sloan for this but she was at fault as well when she didn't push him to change. Still, he didn't think that much would change between them in bed even if he was willing to try. She wouldn't admit it but her heart had left with him the day he was deployed. He would have to come back a changed man before the couple could ever be intimate again. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this now except that it makes me want you more," he said, reaching up to palm her cheek.

He really wanted her and Orianne couldn't believe it. They were playing with fire but she hardly cared when she was around him. She really wanted to say to hell with it all and just have him shag her senseless. "I just want you to understand who I am and why I react the way I do to you."

"You don't know how much I want to show you what it really feels like to be a woman."

She shivered at the thought and replied, "And I wish the same but I'm afraid I won't be all that great at returning the favor."

"It'll be something we could work on," he replied and she wasn't sure if she should take that seriously or not. Either way the conversation had probably already gone too far.

"So, tell me what you're gonna do without me all weekend?" she asked with mock arrogance. Orianne had effectively changed the conversation. They sat upon the hood of the car for a while longer, talking about Dave's plans for the weekend. Without her around, he thought he would try to patch things up with Randy Orton, who wasn't speaking to him. The tension in the locker room was enough to drive him to do something about it and if apologizing to the frat boy wanna-be eased the stress, then he would do it. She wanted to protest but she didn't want to be the cause of a major split in the men's locker room. Eventually, the night grew too cold and too late and they returned to the Thomases', Orianne to her old room in her parents' house and Dave to the guest house, both alone.

TBC…


	15. If the World Could Stand Still

**Author's Notes: **This is one of those chapters that would raise the warning level. Blah, blah, blah, you know the drill, e-mail me if you want a censored version.

_**Chapter XV: If the World Could Stand Still**_

Orianne pinned the last curl in place and plastered it with hairspray. She surveyed her creation, satisfied with the hour she had spent with a curling iron, tons of bobby pins, and extra strength, superhold hairspray. Her straight-as-a-board hair wouldn't hold curl if God himself wanted to do something about it. The woman then carefully applied some eyeshadow and eye-liner, trying to recreate a little of what Maria had the one night she was a stand-in bimbo. A little blush and a little lip-gloss and then she unzipped the garment bag that held her dress for the fundraiser. The photographer would not be sitting down to dinner with anyone but she was expected to also be attired formally for the event. She slipped into the dress, situated her boobs in the tight bodice, and headed straight for the mirror.

"Yes," she breathed, glancing from top to bottom and then turning around. "Crap," she then muttered and realized that she hadn't changed into her seamless panties. The dress had an empire waist but hugged her curves and yelled, "Hey! Look at my pantyline!" She began digging around in her suitcase to find them. When she had brought the dress back from its closet in the guest house, she explicitly remembered taking those panties out of the top drawer of the dresser. They weren't in her carry-on and they didn't seem to be in her suitcase either. She took out each item in both bags, one by one, and the article of clothing was nowhere to be found. Dave would be at the door at any moment and they had to go straight to the banquet hall. There was no time to stop off by Victoria Secrets or even Wal-mart, if they even carried them. There was only one choice—go commando, something she had only done for that one RAW vignette. With a big sigh, she shrugged out of her underwear just as the knock sounded at the door, signaling Dave's arrival. "Coming," she called and slipped into her long jacket and matching formal sandals, grabbing her camera bags and purse at the same time.

Orianne hurried out into the hall and smiled, trying to get used to the feel of 'airiness' since this time there was nothing in direct contact down there. However, she was stopped in her tracks. If she could have her way, she'd drop all her cameras, drag him into the hotel room, and proceed to indulge in every fantasy she ever had. He had opted for a black pinstripe suit with a cornflower blue shirt and matching blue and black tie and had a light dress coat on to protect himself from the misting rain outside. He even had in his gold earrings. She had to wonder why it was that the more clothing a man put on the sexier he became. "Wow," she breathed.

"Thanks," he replied, brushing off some rain droplets. "Your hair is amazing. Don't I get to see the rest?" he asked, looking her up and down but all he could see was the red satin from her knees down.

"We'll be late," she answered, heading for the elevator, trying to cover for her sudden blush and reserve.

"Okay," Dave replied with a pout and hurried to catch up with her.

Maybe had he not been obsessed with wondering what she was wearing, thinking back to the night she played a diva, his evening might have started out better. He missed the entrance to the hallway that led to the conference room where he was to meet Robert Brackney, the highest bidder for his company for the night, after seeing Orianne to the banquet hall, even though she insisted she could find her way without his help; all the while he was trying to catch a glimpse of what was under her jacket. Therefore, he was late and was reprimanded by McMahon. He could care less about the scolding, but word had reached the chairman about his row with Randy Orton and Dave didn't want to do anything else to put himself in jeopardy of losing the belt or being suspended. With Vince's fickleness, something as being late on top of anything else could do that.

Batista had expected his dinner companion to be an annoying Internet geek with too much money, but it seemed that Dr. Robert Brackney was a rich philanthropist that had a penchant for wrestling. They held an intelligent conversation throughout the evening regarding wrestling and Brackney's work with inner-city medical clinics. When their conversation turned from the business to medicine, the other four people at the table dissolved into conversations of their own. The other two wrestlers were the Undertaker and Ric Flair and, thankfully, they also had male bidders. Dave had noticed that Edge was fending off his female dinner companion but that John Cena might actually be interested enough in the lady at his table to take her back to his room.

Orianne, however, was absolutely starving from the smell of the meals as she floated back and forth between the banquet room taking candid shots and the kitchen stealing little bites to eat. She was promised a dinner as well but found out, upon arrival, that she would receive hers after the event. Unable to help herself, she started with Dave's table, a mistake that haunted her throughout the night as she caught the gleam in his eye at her floor length red satin, spaghetti strap dress that hugged her body. She intentionally grasped the right side of her dress in a pretense to hold it up so she wouldn't step on it just so she could wiggle red polished toenails where only he could see. The look on his face stayed with her for the rest of evening; it was a look of hunger, need, and pure sex. It was probably the same look on her face when she had greeted him at the door of her hotel.

To round out the evening, several wrestlers had been asked to share anecdotes. Between the introduction of bidders and wrestlers, opening remarks by McMahon, an obligatory statement of acceptance by the representatives of several of the foundations receiving donations, a report of how much they had raised—including personal donations by the McMahons and the wrestlers, the dinner itself, and the entertainment so wonderfully provided in the anecdotes, the event lasted a little under three hours.

Dave gave his thanks to Brackney and wished him luck in his future endeavors as politely as possible before finding Orianne. She was heading for the coat room with her dinner in a to-go box. With a low chuckle, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into an abandoned conference room. "Dave," she giggled and set the Styrofoam box down to push his hands away as his fingertips grazed her collarbone and then caressed her shoulders.

"You look so good I could eat you up," he said, nuzzling her neck. He ran his hands down her arms, over her hips, and then around her waist, realizing that she had nothing on underneath. She slipped her hands inside his jacket and up over his sculpted muscles. "God, I want you," he murmured, fully aware that as much as he thought he had wanted to sleep with her in the past, he now wanted her more than ever.

"Well, not here," Orianne replied, standing on tip-toe to nip his ear.

"Are you serious?" he asked, pulling back to gaze into her blue eyes.

"I…maybe," she honestly admitted, completely caught off guard by his question.

Dave looked away, trying to stop himself from throwing her down on the oak conference table. She could see him working his jaw in thought. "Do you mean that?"

"Maybe," she answered but it sounded more like a question.

"Let's go back to the room and talk. We've _really _got to talk about this," he replied, taking her hand and the to-go box. They retrieved their jackets and her camera bags before returning to the hotel.

Orianne set her bags aside and, while shrugging out of her jacket, Dave began massaging her neck and running his fingers up into the carefully done ringlets. "I can take it down," she said.

"Let me," he replied and picked each of the pins out of her hair, giving her way too much time to think. If she put this desire to bed literally, then the want and anticipation would no longer haunt her. She'd find out what it was like to sleep with Dave but then it would be over. First, because he wouldn't find her as sexy when she wasn't that great in bed and second, because she knew it wouldn't be as good as she expected. It was her theory that if she just slept with another man, her suspicions would be confirmed and things could go back to way they always were with Sloan and she could just quit wondering. Yet, she couldn't betray her husband.

When Dave found a brush and began to work out the curls until her long hair fell in waves around her shoulders, she could no longer think as the tension coiled tightly in her body and her head began to pound in response to the thick atmosphere. He then turned her around and twirled a tress around his finger. "You are so beautiful," he whispered.

"Exactly how much have you had to drink tonight?" she softly asked with a laugh but his face remained impassive.

"I mean it," he replied, wrapping his arms around her waist and then leaning in towards her. He had started pulling the pins out of her hair as a way to stall broaching the subject and to figure what exactly he was going to say. He had every intention of talking this over with her, of trying to work through whatever was happening between them but something else had taken over his body.

Orianne didn't pull back as his lips barely brushed hers. She felt like a teenager as her legs grew wobbly and she swayed on her feet. With that kiss, she lost her mind—there was no more justification and no more fighting it. The woman snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him back down. He groaned in the back of his throat as their lips opened and tongues twined. If this was a precursor to sex, there was no way her body would be able to handle it.

With his arms still around her, Dave slowly walked her backwards toward the bed, all the while devouring her mouth. Sucking on her bottom lip, he gently sat her down and then knelt in front of her to remove her dainty sandals. He slid his hands up her bare legs as he stood up again and then pulled her up with him. He reached around her for the dress' zipper but she put her hands on his chest to stop him.

"My way," she whispered and pushed the suit jacket from his shoulders. She pulled the knot from his tie loose as his fingers danced across her hips. He bent down to take her lips in his again as she untucked his shirt and undid each of the buttons. She pushed that off his shoulders but he jerked the undershirt over his head and then pulled her close to him again in a kiss. Orianne ran her hands down his hard, sculpted chest and over his abs. His stomach tightened when she neared his waistline and began to unbuckle his belt before sliding it out of the loops. With the flick of a button and the pull of a zipper, his pants fluttered to his ankles to reveal a pair of blue briefs. "Thought you were gonna get lucky, did you?" she asked with a throaty laugh.

"I could always hope," he replied with a smirk and let go of her long enough to kick them off and jerk off his socks. She hadn't even noticed he had slipped off his shoes some time back. "Your turn," he said and ran his hands over her hips and across her butt. "Although there's little to remove," he added with a sexy growl.

When Dave reached for the zipper, she stopped him again. "Can we turn out the lights?"

"But I want to see you," he replied.

"That's why."

"If this is about your scars, then you forget that I saw them the night you were drunk. I helped you change, remember?" he said, pushing a lock of hair out of her face. She blushed deeply, remembering the mortifying incident and realizing that he had indeed practically seen her naked already. "You told me your trusted me."

"I do," she whispered and wound her hands around his neck again to pull him down for a kiss as he unzipped her dress, letting it float to floor.

Without leaving her lips, he eased her down on the bed and then shrugged out of his briefs. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his evenly tanned, chiseled body in all its naked perfection. Dave traced his fingers over the white puckers on her ankle and the long welt on her knee. His fingertips grazed the large slashes across her hip bone and then he kissed them each. Orianne sucked in her breath and grabbed a fistful of the blanket. She didn't think she could take much more anticipation as he trailed kisses across her stomach and then up to her chest. He teased her nipples to hard peaks and then lightly blew on them, eliciting a giggle from her. He grinned devilishly before lips closed over one and this time she moaned softly and ran a hand into his hair. Her breasts ached with desire as he lavished attention on each one.

As his lips released her nipple, he raised up to look at her and simply smile. He had wanted to make love to her for far too long for their relationship but he couldn't help staring into her clouded eyes. She started to run her hands down his chest and to his waist but he caught them between his own. "This is about you tonight," he replied, pushing them up to rest on his chest, and then trailing his hands down her own stomach to the apex of her thighs. She let out a burst of breath, squeezing her eyes tightly closed as his fingers found the sensitive nub nestled there. She began to groan louder as his ministrations began to grow faster. He pressed himself harder against the side of her body and covered her mouth with his. She gripped his upper arms tightly and returned the kiss, attempting to control her shuddering body.

Just when Orianne thought she was finally about to go over the edge, he suddenly stopped and pulled back from her. He nodded questioningly at her and she whispered, "Yes." Nudging her legs apart with his knee, his eyes never left hers. Dave wanted to watch her, to know that he was taking her to places she had never been. He sank within her with a moan of his own just as she wrapped her legs around his waist but then she winced. He didn't move again, afraid of hurting her. "I'm fine," she breathed but instead of continuing on, he gently moved from side to side and barely back and forth. As her face softened and she opened her eyes up, he then began to move in the slow rhythm as old as time itself.

When she began making whimpering sounds, he couldn't help but smile to himself. She tried to stay focused on his cloudy almond eyes but she gave in and focused on matching him thrust for thrust as he held back the sheer power within. She tightened around him and he let out a feral growl, losing control and pumping harder. Orianne lost her grip on his sweat slicked body and grabbed fistfuls of the blanket as she felt the tension mounting high within her. No longer able to hold back, she began moaning his name and, finally, the coiled spring within released, prompting her to cry out his name as he collapsed on top of her, propping himself up on his forearms to keep from crushing her. Her body grew slack as the ripples of pleasure radiated out from her center and she panted, trying to catch her breath.

Dave pushed sweaty tendrils from her peaceful face and barely grazed her lips with his. "Don't move," she whispered. She wished she could capture this feeling on film, the emotions, the atmosphere surrounding them as they lay there together still joined as one. "I don't want this feeling to ever go away."

"I know," he breathed and softly kissed her again.

"But you need to lie down, you're shaking," she softly said, running her hands over his trembling arms.

He was quite possibly the strongest man in wrestling and no physical action could reduce his body to such a weak state but she could do that. Reluctantly, he disengaged himself from her and lay on his back. She curled around him and quietly asked, "You want to clean up?"

"I don't want you to move."

"Fine by me," she replied and laid her head on his chest to drift off into a deep sleep, his hot body making covers unnecessary.

* * *

Orianne woke to find herself in a blanketed cocoon with strong arms wrapped around her. At first, she panicked, remembering what exactly she had done last night. She had just been unfaithful to her husband. Thinking about how to disentangle herself from a sleeping Dave and then hide from the world, the man beside her woke up with a smile on his face. "Morning, sweetheart," he said and kissed her neck beneath her ear, sending tingles down that side of her body. 

"Hi," she breathed in response, placing a hand on his cheek. She couldn't think straight anymore and wondered what time of the day it was and when and where they were supposed to be for the day. "I can't move," she sighed and relaxed against his arm that was under her neck.

"Why would you want to?" he asked with a leering grin.

"To get a shower, find out if we're late for anything."

"I hope we've not slept that late," he replied, attempting to figure out how they had wrapped the blanket around themselves in the middle of the night. "Our flights leave out early this evening. Remember? We've got the night off."

"At this moment, I can't remember much of anything except last night," she said, stretching and trying to cover up with the blanket.

"C'mon, you're not gonna be shy _now _are you?" Dave asked, jerking the covers away from her. Her best response was just to lie there, staring up at the ceiling and shaking her head. "That's better," he replied, laying down beside her and tracing his fingers down the valley between her breasts and across her stomach.

"Alright, stop, I'm moving, getting in the shower now," she said, popping up from the bed and running for the bathroom. She managed to get in the door before him and lock it behind her.

"That's not fair," he protested.

"You'll have your turn," Orianne replied with a maniacal laugh.

"I'll take all of your clothes with me to my room and you'll have to come begging and naked."

"You wouldn't," she chided.

"You just watch me," Dave replied, slamming her suitcase closed where she could hear him.

"You win," she shouted and jerked open the door, revealing a toothbrush dangling from her mouth.

"That's more like it," he suggestively replied, pushing his way in and pulling her to him. He took the toothbrush from her and kissed her, her mouth foaming toothpaste at the corners. "Nice, spearmint."

Orianne managed to get away from him long enough to rinse her mouth out and start the shower. He simply leaned up against the vanity and watched her climb in when steam starting pouring out from behind the curtain. He had no idea what he was doing when he stepped in behind her but he had already screwed things up last night, so what difference did it make now?

Washing had never been so erotic for her as he lathered his hands with soap and began caressing her body from head to toe. Her tired and sore muscles had protested when she had gotten out of bed but now his touching her in the most intimate of places invigorated her. It was obvious that he wasn't too tired for another round. She washed him at an agonizingly slow pace, touching every sculpted muscle under his smooth skin. Pretending to rinse off his lower body again, she dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth without warning or preamble. He almost staggered backward but caught hold of the washcloth bar and held on tight with one hand, sliding his fingers into her wet hair with his other as she explored his manhood with her lips and tongue before setting up a rhythm that was driving him mad with want of her.

"Orianne, your bad knee…" He couldn't finish trying to tell her she didn't need to be on her knees for the moan interrupting his statement as she cupped him. "God," he groaned and pulled her to face him. He picked her up and pinned her to wall of the shower and she wrapped her legs around him.

"I'm not strong enough to hold myself up," she said and he wrapped one arm underneath her as he entered her, watching her face to see if he hurt her again. When she sighed in pleasure, he knew what it was like to have her and he couldn't start out as slow as last night. She didn't seem to protest as she held on tight and moaned as he drove himself deeper.

"Oh, god, Ori," he breathed with one final thrust, sending her over the edge as well. She hung onto to him limply, trying to control her panting as the waves radiated to the tips of her fingers and toes.

"Dave," she gasped, "You are going to be the death of me." He grinned at her as he gently lowered her back down to the floor of the tub. "So much for a hot shower," she muttered as the water turned from lukewarm to cold.

"Eh, I need a cold shower or we'll never get anything done today," he replied and shook his head like a dog, sending water everywhere. She squealed and hurried out of the shower.

Orianne quickly dried off and scampered out of the bathroom as he turned the water off and reached for a towel. She wrapped herself in a robe and reached for her PDA with the feeling that she was missing something today. "Oh, no," she exclaimed.

"What's wrong?" Dave called as he stepped through the door, toweling his short hair dry.

"I'm supposed to have brunch with Cara Whitfield in twenty minutes."

"Call and cancel," he replied, walking over to her and nuzzling her neck.

"It's a standing date," she responded and laughed when he picked up her red dress and held it up to his body, swishing his hips. "Stop that." She almost fell out of the chair trying to grab it from him.

He jerked away and stated, "I didn't even know you owned a dress. And you even went without socks. I'm so proud of you."

"I own dresses," she haughtily replied. "That one happens to be one I bought for a charity ball that I attended with Sloan." Orianne drifted away for a moment as she remembered that night. She couldn't dance because of her accident but Sloan had made a special effort to enroll them in private lessons so that she could learn the slow, sweeping ballroom dances that would accommodate her mobility. She remembered how handsome he looked in his uniform and how graceful she felt in his arms and the guilt began to pour in.

"You have to stay and wear it again for me," Dave stated, jerking her out of her reverie.

"I'm sorry. I really need to go," she replied, fully aware that they could end up spending the entire day in bed if she didn't do something. She wasn't even sure she was retuning to his bed. Orianne needed some time to regroup without him around and try to figure out the mess she had gotten herself into. Somehow, she managed to skirt a naked Batista, lounging in her bed and flipping channels while being amused at her hurrying about to get ready.

Orianne's legs were so tired that she gratefully fell into the chair in the hotel's dining room where Cara waited. "Sorry I'm late," she said to the blonde.

"No problem," she said, glancing up from the menu and then back down again before she jerked her head to scrutinize the photographer. "You're positively glowing. Are you pregnant?"

The other woman's mouth dropped open. "No, of course not," she scoffed. "Do the math. Sloan's been gone way too long for that to be true."

"Can't mean you aren't getting a little on the side."

"Cara!" Orianne exclaimed, wondering if there was something that the technician _did_ know.

"I'm just kidding! Jeez, woman." The black-haired woman glared at her. "I really am kidding. But you do look radiant this morning."

"Thanks, must be this near moisturizer I bought. I'm starving. What looks good?" she asked, realizing she never got around to her meal from the fundraiser.

Cara talked nonstop, spreading the usual gossip and wanting to hear all about the diva shoot and charity dinner. Orianne didn't have a chance to even begin to critically think about her situation. All she thought about was the feel of his lips, how his body felt against hers, and complete sexual satisfaction brought on by one Dave Batista. Her stomach was somewhere around her feet and she felt like a teenager mooning over her first kiss.

After they paid for the meal, the photographer excused herself and, when Cara was out of sight, headed for the outdoor dining patio overlooking the ocean. It was too cool for patrons to be out here and she wrapped her coat even tighter around her, settling in one of the chairs. She didn't dare ask the question, "What have I done?" She knew exactly what she had done and enjoyed every damn moment of it. She giggled and snuggled deeper into her jacket, tucking her feet up under her. _Get ahold of yourself_, she chided. She was married and couldn't change that. She was unfaithful and couldn't change that either. She was not in love with Dave, she told herself. It was lust. They were two of the most opposite people on the planet. He was a Greek god, not to mention popular, rich, sophisticated…He was the Heavyweight Champion of the WWE. She was mousy, country, middle class, and a lowly photographer. He was a WWE superstar and she was there to feed his ego through the use of a lens. Outside of that hotel room, they were nothing together. Yet, inside…inside the world stood still.

They were innocently playing until last night. Nothing was innocent about their actions that evening or this morning. Orianne loved her husband and, until these past few months, couldn't imagine herself cheating on him. Now, she had two options before her. She had to go up to that room and tell Dave something. It was either they continue this affair or they no longer had any sexual relations at all. While she and Sloan had hit a rocky patch in their marriage, it wasn't the end of her marriage…unless he chose his career over her. But she couldn't assume he would do that. He would be home in less than five months and have to give her an answer. She wanted to remain married to him or she wouldn't have issued the ultimatum in the first place.

Orianne then suddenly realized that even if she didn't want to stay married to her husband, she didn't know if Dave had intentions towards her. She didn't think he was playing with her but he hadn't offered a solid relationship either. She could be leaving Sloan for a man who only saw her as an affair. Reluctantly she would have to stay faithful to her husband from here on out, even if that meant never having earth-shattering sex again…with Dave Batista. The photographer rose from her seat, her legs shaking from what she was about to tell Dave. Her stomach was now a mixture of longing and apprehension as she slowly made her way back to her room.

TBC…

**Author's Notes**: I'm off to a conference in Washington, DC, for grad school. Little learning, little schmoozing, and hopefully a whole lot of fun. Then I'm off to see my family and in-laws for Thanksgiving. All that to say, I leave Friday morning and won't be able to reply to any reviews or post again until next weekend. I hope the content of this chapter (wink, wink) was just enough to tide y'all over until then.


	16. You Happened

**Author's Notes: **I'm back from DC, safe and sound, with the exception of catching a nasty cold, which I'm almost over. So, we'll now resume our regularly scheduled program.

**_Chapter XVI: You Happened_**

Upon entering her hotel room, Orianne found it empty and Dave's clothes gone with the exception of his blue dress shirt, which was laid out carefully on the bed with a note written on hotel stationery attached.

_Ori,_

_Called away to an emergency meeting. Seems we have to change storylines for tomorrow night. I hope you'll be waiting for me tonight in Chicago wearing this and only this._

_Dave_

Orianne was relieved that she didn't have to tell him with the emotions so raw. She picked the shirt up and inhaled his cologne, a scent that would forever remind her of their one night together. It wasn't fair, none of this was fair, she thought, flopping down on the bed and curling up with his shirt.

* * *

Chips were doled out and cards were dealt. Everyone was present in body but maybe not in mind. Orianne shuffled her five cards back and forth in her hand, her feet tucked up under her and her body in a tight ball. She was going to back out of this game but was afraid she'd arouse suspicion. The woman arrived intentionally late to keep from having to talk to Batista. They were on separate flights an hour and a half apart and had to yet to speak again. He had tried to crack a few jokes with her but she half-heartedly replied or laughed in response.

"You okay?" Shawn Michaels leaned over and whispered.

"Yeah, I just don't feel too well," she replied. "I'll be fine." Shawn opened his mouth to say something but then clamped it shut as his turn came.

Orianne had no idea how hard this way going to be. There was a blue shirt stuffed in her suitcase that was begging to be worn by a female body and that woman wanted to wear it for its owner more than anything. Yet, the married woman behind her knew she couldn't do it. Dave's presence was only making it worse. She agonized over telling him and couldn't imagine his response as she watched his smiling face enjoy the game. It had to be her imagination but he seemed to be in especially high spirits. _Wouldn't you be if you had just had sex that morning?_ she thought.

After two more rounds, the photographer suddenly pushed her chips to the middle of the table. "I don't feel well. I need to go back to my room," she stated and stood up. "Somebody call me and let me know who I owe the favor to, okay?"

At the same time, Shawn and Dave rose in concern. Thinking that they were standing for a lady, Rob, Mike, and Ric jumped up as well. Orianne would have laughed had she been in the mood. With Dave sandwiched between RVD and Chioda, Shawn was the first to walk her to the door. "You want me to walk you back to your room? Are you sure you're gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, I'm exhausted. I just want to sleep," she replied, putting a hand on Shawn's arm and squeezing in thanks. He nodded and pushed the door open for her.

Orianne dragged into her room, shrugged out of her jeans and t-shirt, and slipped into Dave's dress shirt. She crawled in under the sheets and curled up into a ball. Inhaling his cologne, tears sprang into her eyes but she held them back. She hated crying; she had been such a strong person throughout the years. From the injury to each time her husband left on assignment, she had held herself together, refusing to let her emotions take hold of her. Now, she was on the verge of sobbing and would like to have claimed that it was a girl thing.

The woman had almost fallen asleep when a knock sounded at her door. She knew it was Batista and crept deeper under the covers. The knocking grew louder and then finally quit. Within seconds, her phone began to ring and she slid a hand out from underneath the blanket to check the callerID: it was Dave. Turning the phone on silent, she tossed it at her purse across the room and pulled the covers up high over her head, hoping he would just go away for now.

* * *

When she didn't answer the door, Batista began to worry until he decided that she was either in the shower or asleep. Debating on whether or not he should call again, he returned to his room and then decided against it. If Orianne wasn't feeling well, he didn't need to wake her up. The wrestler was quite disappointed at the thought of not seeing her tonight in his shirt, hanging down to her bare thighs and unbuttoned to reveal a hint of her breasts. He quickly decided on a cold shower to cool such desirous thoughts.

However, he couldn't wash them all away as the concerns from earlier in the day returned. Of course he felt a little guilty. If he had stayed away from her, they wouldn't have slept together. While she seemed to be a fully willing participant, he couldn't help but shoulder most of the burden. He knew about her lacking sex life and how she had entertained thoughts of an affair before but that still didn't stop him; he literally plunged on in. What wasn't stopping him now was that what was done was done and they couldn't change it. It didn't matter if she cheated with him once or a thousand times. As a man who had been cheated on, it hardly mattered how many times Gabrielle had slept with Kyle; it was the fact that she had. So why should Orianne suffer a lonely life without seeing her needs met?

Yet, this was still wrong. Sleeping with a married woman was wrong the first time, the last time, and all the times in between. He couldn't imagine never making love to her again but it was arrogant of him to think that she would leave her husband for him after only having sex twice. She had offered him nothing, not even a hint of wanting a committed relationship with him. All he could think to do was leave the ball in Orianne's court. It would be her decision and he would accept that. Therefore, he found himself knocking on her hotel door after RAW.

Orianne took a deep breath and pulled the door open. She hadn't even changed out of her khakis and new Ric Flair T-shirt. After he attempted to unsuccessfully talk to her ringside, the fans were too loud for her to hear a word from him as he circled around to shake hands. "Later," he had mouthed and she nodded.

"Hi," she said and held the door open for him.

"You okay? Feeling any better?" he asked, coming through the door.

Truthfully, she felt worse, as if she might actually be coming down with something but she nodded in response. "You know that talk we meant to have the…other night? I think we need to have it now," she said, taking a seat on one of the double beds and facing the other.

Dave could tell this was serious and sat down opposite her. "Tell me what's on your mind," he said but then blanched at how flippant the comment sounded. He then leaned forward and propped his forearms on his knees to show she had his undivided attention.

"I've been thinking about _us _and I don't think there can be an _us_ in whatever capacity it is that we have." Dave sucked in a deep breath through his nose and sat up straighter. He slowly nodded but had no reply. "I can't sleep with you again and I'm afraid that if we continue to see each other, we will. I'm sorry. I hope you understand."

"Because you're married?" Dave asked.

"Yeah," she replied, clasping her hands together between her knees and staring at the floor.

"So we're not going to be friends either?" he asked a little more accusingly than he meant.

"Not in the same way. It's just that I can't be alone with you anymore. It's not like I don't want to ever see you," Orianne quickly added the last when she saw him working his jaw like he always did when either angry or troubled.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "It's all or nothing." The woman's mouth practically fell open. "I don't want to put limits on who we are, on who _you _are."

Orianne closed her eyes and swallowed hard at the lump in her throat. "Then it has to be nothing," she evenly stated even though she was falling apart inside.

Dave rose to his feet. "If that's your decision…" She nodded and he started for the door but turned around before he opened it. "Since we won't be able to talk like this again, I thought you might want to know that I've decided to wait and find out if Gabrielle's baby is mine before I worry myself about how much I want to be a part of the baby's life."

"I think that's a good idea," she replied, rising from the bed and stepping to within feet of him to see him out.

"I don't think _this_ is a good idea but if that's the way you want it, I don't have a choice. Just one more…" he trailed off and pulled her to him. He cupped her head with one hand and wrapped his arm around his shoulders where she couldn't pull away.

"Dave," she began but he covered her mouth with his, stealing that one last, passionate kiss. He knew he had accomplished what he wanted when he felt her go slack and her knees begin to give in. He finally pulled away and let her go. As she put a hand on the wall to steady herself, he opened the door and was gone.

Orianne refused to cry. It was done and over; no looking back. However, she felt like she had just lost her best friend. _Because you have, you stupid fool_, she thought, trying to squelch the pain in her chest when she realized that he had hardly argued with her decision. He hadn't really cared enough to want to stay with her. She felt utterly rejected and reached for her phone, hoping Orrin was still awake. She'd fake missing Sloan but she needed to talk to someone.

* * *

Dave was no more than ten feet away from her door when he dialed Randy Orton's cell phone. "Where're you at?"

"On my way out of the hotel room to go clubbing," Randy replied, surprised that Dave was calling this late.

"Wait in the lobby, I'm coming." Gabrielle had devastated him and he had done little to attempt to bring himself out of that oppressive abyss he allowed himself to fall into. He would be damned if he let Orianne, a woman he had had sex with twice, do the same thing to him. He was going out and show the world that he was Dave Batista and he didn't need a woman.

* * *

Orianne had spent the week telling herself that she had made the right decision. Yet it did nothing for how depressed she was. She vowed to herself that she would still play poker with the guys and that Dave's presence wouldn't stop her. If he didn't want to be her friend, she'd show him that it was still possible. Plus, if he wanted to act immature, not wanting to see her, then _he_ could quit playing poker. However, when faced with the actual decision to attend the game, she chickened out Friday, calling Ric Flair to tell him that her flight was coming in too late and to ask for a ride to Mike Chioda's wedding the next day. She assumed that she would not be accompanying Dave to the nuptials now.

The poker group was oblivious to their close relationship, only knowing that they found out they were related and enjoyed picking on each other during the games. Therefore, Flair had no reason to doubt her need of an escort. Mike and Shelly had decided to wait to get married until RAW was near their hometown, pushing the original date back by only a month. They wanted to give as many friends as possible the chance to attend.

Orianne noticed that about a quarter of the staff had shown up, more staff than wrestlers, but the entire poker group had come, including Dave Batista. She was seated a few rows back from the front and only learned that he was there when she turned to watch the newly married couple exit the chapel. The wedding was early afternoon and he was dressed in a light blue polo shirt and black slacks, looking quite scrumptious. She swallowed hard against the butterflies in her stomach. As Ric and Orianne made their way out to the reception, Shawn Michaels had waylaid Dave and was waving the two of them over.

"Hi," Orianne greeted, keeping her eyes on Shawn. "Beautiful wedding, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. Let's go give Mike our congratulations, get some cake, and get moving. We've got to be at the arena soon enough," Michaels replied, glancing at his watch.

The black-haired woman took the lead, requiring Dave to catch up with her if he wanted to talk to her. However, Rob had seen them and fell in line with her. She was completely surprised to see him dressed in khakis and a nice pull-over. They exchanged a few pleasantries as they stepped through the breezeway to the reception hall.

Dave fell behind Orianne intentionally. He couldn't avoid her, so he did the next best thing possible—distance himself from her. He hadn't slept well all week since all he could think about was her and berate himself for his 'all or nothing' demand; it was so childish of him but he couldn't take it back now. He was still a little sluggish from another night on the town with Randy Orton. Yet, no matter had foggy he was, he couldn't get her from his mind as he sat in the back of the chapel and stared at the back of her head. He could still feel her soft black hair in his hands. Even though all he could see was her pale pink toenails, he couldn't help but smile when he noticed that she was wearing a skirt as she and Ric approached them. Now he was watching her hips sway in the burgundy skirt and wondering why he hadn't fought harder for her. He had hardly protested. Maybe if he had said something she wouldn't have given up so easily. Yet, she had made her decision and he had agreed to stick by it before she even told him.

After congratulating Mike and Shelly, Orianne found herself sipping a cup of punch with Shawn as she waited for Ric to finish making his rounds so they could leave. "You coming tonight after the show?" Shawn casually asked.

She opened her mouth to say 'yes' but caught Batista's retreating form as he left the reception hall. Her hands suddenly burned with the memory of cupping his tight butt. "No, I think I'm staying in again. This head cold from last weekend still has me sidelined a bit."

"You don't sound bad," he replied, simply making conversation.

"This medicine I'm on has literally dried it up but it makes me so tired. You can count on me next weekend though," she explained, effectively getting herself out of the entire weekend.

"Shame. With Mike and Dave both out this weekend, there's really no point in playing. We've got to find somebody to replace Dave anyhow." Orianne literally spewed her punch and then choked on it. Shawn thumped her hard on the back and then asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she hoarsely replied. "Just went…down…" she hiccupped, "…the wrong way. Thanks." They were replacing Dave? Why would he leave? He was there to keep from holing himself up in his room or going out drinking and clubbing.

Shawn's comment left Orianne bewildered until she met with Cara for lunch the next day. The two women casually chatted about their week and Mike's wedding. The technician had also attended but couldn't stay for the reception. She then casually commented, "Looks like Dave Batista is back on the market."

"Hmmm?" Orianne asked around her glass of tea.

"I was sure you would know. I thought y'all were close. Seen you out on the town a couple of times."

"That's just about it. We've spent a couple of afternoons together when he's had time but nothing much. So what is it I don't know?"

"I heard last week that he was out clubbing with Randy," she whispered as if it was juicy gossip, wrinkling her nose when she said Orton's name. "Got so drunk it took Randy _and _Carlito to get him up to his room."

"Really?" Orianne replied, trying to hide her utter shock.

"It gets better. _I _saw him last night dancing with at least five different women, two at once."

"Well, I guess that's his business."

"True," the blonde replied, "I'm surprised it took him so long to get over Gabrielle."

_You have no idea what she did to him, _the photographer wanted to reply but kept Dave's secrets to herself as they should be. Now, she couldn't help but wonder if their no longer seeing each other drove him to behavior she considered completely erratic for him. "Not to completely change the subject or anything but have you asked out Cedarius yet?"

Cara blushed and looked away. "No," she muttered.

"One more chance," Orianne responded, shaking her finger at her.

* * *

Orianne continued to ponder Cara's news about Dave. She never wanted to end their relationship, just the sleeping together part. She still cared for him and began to worry about him when she heard the next Saturday that he was once again out in the nightclubs. About an hour after the technician had passed on more gossip of Batista's previous night out, Orianne announced to the blonde that she wanted to go out tonight with them. "Um, yeah," Cara stuttered, surprised at her friend's request.

The black-haired woman thought carefully about what she wanted to wear but ended up knocking on Cara's door a few minutes before they were supposed to meet. "I don't have anything suitable to wear tonight. Can I borrow something?" she asked.

"Yeah," the blonde replied, once again surprised at the request. "What look are you going for?"

"I was thinking," Orianne innocently replied with a finger to the corner of her mouth, "I would love to just be sexy. I'm in the mood to turn down guys."

"We can do that," the other woman replied and began shuffling through her suitcase. "Here," she held up a long black skirt that slit up the right side, "and maybe this." She tossed Orianne a neon pink halter top along with the skirt. "We can be a little late. Change and then you can borrow some of my make-up."

Orianne didn't look quite as good as the night Lita and Maria made her up but this was definitely eye-catching. After two fairly boring clubs and three offers to dance, the group, consisting of Cara, Cedarius, Dennis, and Gail from pyrotechnics, finally waltzed into the most popular nightclub of the small city without incident when Lita and Edge walked up to the entrance at the same time. "They're with us," the redhead stated, slipping the front man an extra bill. "Your mom's recipe for apple pie really is the way to a man's heart," she added with a suggestive grin to Orianne as they walked in together, leaving the black-haired woman wondering when Lita and her mother had gotten cozy.

Edge saw several more wrestlers and pulled Lita away. She beckoned for Orianne to follow but the photographer waved her off. Settling at a table, she noticed Dave dancing slowly with a provocatively dressed brunette; she had hit paydirt and found him. After drinks were ordered, the group headed straight for the dance floor. Orianne followed them out but then retreated when she intentionally lost her friends on the crowded floor. Settling back at the table, she kept her eyes on Dave. He was back and forth between the dance floor and his table where Orton and Carlito were entertaining two blondes. She was blown away by how gracefully he moved while he danced, granted he was slow dancing with bimbos in stilettos. Even though she hadn't doubted Cara, she needed to see it for herself.

Orianne had slipped away from the table when the guys came back for another round of drinks but now they were gathered around the table talking. She faked wiping some sweat off her forehead and pushed her way into the horseshoe shaped booth. "I lost you guys out there," she said with a grin.

"Did you find someone to dance with?"

"Yeah, I did actually. Really nice guy. Cara, can I borrow you a second?" The blonde nodded and scooted out of the booth with her. "Did you ask out Cedarius?" The other woman didn't respond but looked away before shaking her head. "I want you to go ask Dave Batista to dance."

"Dave?" Cara squeaked.

"Yes, just tell him you're trying to make somebody jealous and he'll do it. Trust me," she explained, hoping she was right. "Now would be nice." The blonde reluctantly glided away and Orianne waited until she convinced Batista, who was just coming off the floor, to go back out.

The photographer headed back to their table and pulled Cedarius aside. "I heard Dave Batista is back on the market. He's dancing with Cara," she said, jerking her head in their direction. "If you want her, you might want to get out there. I'll go with you. Follow my lead." She grabbed Cedarius by the hand before he could protest and dragged him out onto the floor. She carefully inched towards the couple until she "accidentally" bumped into Dave.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, looking up at Dave and then faking recognition. "Dave! I didn't know you'd be here."

"Likewise," he replied, dropping his hands from Cara's waist and appraising Orianne's attire.

"Excuse me, can I butt in?" Cedarius asked, seeing his opportunity. "You can dance with Orianne," he added apologetically, scooting between Cara and Dave.

Batista automatically slid his arms around her and began to move in time with the music. He was looking everywhere but at her. "I see you've made up with Orton," she stated.

Dave and Randy had come to some sort of terms. Actually, he had acted like nothing had happened between the two of them and Orton didn't question it. No comments, no lectures, nothing. Dave hardly came out with him but the younger wrestler welcomed it anyhow. The Champion would probably found himself another girl, fall for her, and then everything would be as it always was. For now though, it was as if their friendship was somehow back on track. "Yeah, what business is it of yours?" he snapped.

"None," she lightly replied. "I just wasn't aware that you would take after him as well."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Dave, _this _is not you. You are a much better man than the one I see. You are much more sophisticated, decent, and responsible than Randy. Don't act lthis way."

"Responsible? Who got drunk because she got in a fight with her husband?"

"That was low," she replied. "I don't know what happened but, Dave, you need to think long and hard about the way you're acting." She pulled away from him and abruptly walked off, leaving him staring at her retreating form.

"You happened," he whispered to himself. She was just as breathtakingly beautiful to him as always and he couldn't get the feel of her hips off his hands or the sight of her bare leg in the skirt's split from his eyes. Orianne was right and he knew it. He had had one night stands before and she was practically the equivalent of that, he lied to himself. Therefore, he was simply upset over being rejected by two women in almost six months. He wasn't going to find acceptance here except from a bottle of alcohol and a ringrat, a woman who would be sleeping with a different wrestler the next time the company came through town. He made his excuses to Orton as quickly as possible to keep the younger man from protesting him leaving. As Dave left, Orianne's gaze followed him, a triumphant smile on her face but a wistful look in her eyes.

Orianne tried not to mope but she couldn't help but wish that each time she was asked to dance, it was Dave. However, she couldn't exactly dance out here with him the way she wanted. After a while, the group began to flag and agreed to return to the hotel. She readily agreed, gathered her purse and wrap, and lied about the good time she had had. "Are you coming again?" Cara asked, linking arms with her as their heels clicked down the sidewalk.

"I don't know," she replied and then lied, "Every time a guy asked me to dance, I wished it was Sloan."

"Well, five months to go," the blonde replied, squeezing Orianne's arm, "you'll make it."

_Four and a half, _she almost corrected.

TBC…


	17. Full of Surprises

**_Chapter XVII: Full of Surprises_**

Still a week later, the physical ache had not left. However, Orianne would be damned if she gave up the poker game now that Dave had decided he didn't want to be a part. She desperately needed the evening to get her mind off him. Waltzing in the door with a pizza and a grocery bag of various drinks—it was her turn to provide refreshments—she literally dropped it all when she saw Dave Batista already seated at the table and shuffling cards. Knowing she had to fake their friendship, she greeted him, "Glad to see you back."

"Yeah, the old buzzard didn't tell us he was taking a couple of weeks off to hang out with his _other _friends," Flair joked though he said 'other' with as much disgust as possible just to annoy the younger man.

"Well, then," she breathlessly replied, arranging the pizza and drinks on the dresser. While she had managed to hide her feelings in regards to seeing Dave there, she could not force herself to even fake what they once had during the poker games. However, she was determined to remain. Once again, if he didn't want to have anything to do with her, then he would be the one to leave.

Possibly from concentrating more on the game, Orianne managed to win against Shawn so that RVD would owe her the favor. This was a first and she couldn't decide exactly what she wanted from him. Her first thought was a joint so she could loosen up but there was no way she would ask, much more smoke it. The most she had done for him was trim his hair and, another time, make an emergency run to Wal-mart for hairbands when he broke his last one an hour before the show. She promised she'd tell him tomorrow as she began picking up empty soda cans and beer bottles.

Rob was the first to leave and Orianne followed him shortly. She had barely gotten in the room and put the left-over Dr. Pepper cans in the refrigerator when someone knocked at her door. She peeked through the peephole and, to her surprise, saw Dave Batista. The hotel door wasn't exactly made of the best quality and she knew he could tell she had checked. She had no option but to open it to him. "Oh, did you want the left-over cans?" she asked, having no idea what to say to him.

"No, actually, I wanted to come over and apologize. Can I come in?" She didn't feel she could say 'no', so she opened the door far enough for him to enter. He stepped through and shut it behind him but didn't take another step farther inside. "I'm sorry that I've acted the way I have. I shouldn't have ignored you and then I shouldn't have been an utter fool. I think I wanted to know what it was like to feel wanted again," he explained with downcast eyes.

"There hasn't been one moment that I _didn't _want you," she said, letting the words slip before she could stop them.

His head jerked up. "I thought that you didn't want to see me."

"Dave, it's because I want you so much that I made my decision."

"Has that changed?"

"The decision or the want?"

"You know," he replied and she blushed deeply, unable to respond. "You can't take that night back. Do you have any intention of telling Sloan about us?"

"Hell, no," she replied. That was something she had given deep thought to and, if she had chance of saving her marriage, this was something he could never know.

"Then why would it matter if you spent the last four months with me?"

"Because…" she trailed off, hardly thinking of a very good excuse with him so close.

"You can't take it back," he said again. "So why does it matter if it's once or a thousand? You need me." He hadn't meant for that to sound so arrogant but she knew exactly what he meant because she did need him. "No strings attached. Four months and then I'll be out of your life."

"You drive a hard bargain," she replied, thinking only of the feel of his body against hers, and launched herself into his arms.

Dave smothered her face in kisses before taking her lips in his and kissing her until she sagged against him. He scooped her up and deposited her on the bed, immediately following her. Her fingers couldn't unbutton his shirt fast enough and he jerked it open, sending buttons everywhere. Her eyes grew wide, unbelieving that he had done it. She almost wanted to ask him to do her that way but she was wearing a light fleece pull over, which she jerked over her head before he whipped it off. He divested himself of the rest of his clothing before she slid out of her jeans. He quickly pulled the handkerchief from her hair and ran his hands through it, leaning forward to smell its soft fragrance. But he was moving again, popping her bra off and deftly removing her panties, thankfully with no rips.

His intensity would have scared her had she not wanted him as much. He drank from her lips as one hand trailed across one breast, down her stomach, and to the hair between her legs. She gasped against his mouth as he slipped a finger inside her to find her ready and willing. Orianne instantly parted her legs for him and he slid inside her with a moan. She shuddered but held on to him tight as they pushed hard and fast against each other, panting for air from their fervor to be one deep within another. She cried out his name as she climaxed and he covered her mouth with his, holding her close as he too, after a few more deep thrusts, came with her. Dave wrapped his arms around her and rolled over to his back, holding her on top of him. She didn't dare move, her hips astride his and her breasts pressed into his chest. If they couldn't still be one, then they would come as close as possible. They fell asleep there, her sprawled on his body like a rag doll.

* * *

"Have you always painted your toenails?" Dave asked, noticing the purple hue, as they lay naked together in bed after RAW the next night.

"You liked the red polish from the charity dinner so much that I couldn't help myself."

"Were you taunting me with your pink toenails at Mike's wedding?"

"Well, I was wearing a skirt and I thought it'd be nice…" she innocently trailed off.

"The one good thing that'll come out of this is that I've got you showing your toes to the world. Although I have to admit I like your sock collection. What were they today? Rabbits?"

"What a fitting choice for us, huh?" she asked with a devilish grin.

"You know," Dave said, sitting up and scooting to the bottom of the bed. "You could get a tattoo."

"Pardon?" she asked as he took her scarred ankle in his hand.

"Okay, look at this. The curves around your ankle, one could be a moon and one could be the sun, and these here little ones can be the sun's rays. Hey, even this one could be a star. And you can just ignore this one running up your tendon. You really don't know it's there because of the tendon."

Orianne watched him trace a fingertip over each scar as he explained his idea. "But I didn't think you could cover up scars with tattoos."

"You can't unless it's part of the lines. See, you just edge around these and while you can still see the scars, you don't notice them for the ink."

"I don't know. Don't they hurt?" she asked warily.

"A little but it's not as bad as getting a piercing." She reached up to where she only had one set of holes for earrings. She had always wanted another but had never taken the opportunity. "I know the perfect guy to do it too. He's really gentle. I'll even pay for you to fly to D.C. on Thursday."

"I don't know…"

"I'll even pay for the tattoo."

"No, I'll do that."

"So you'll get it?" he asked, his eyes dancing like a child's with delight.

"Yes," she replied, sucking in a deep breath and then grinning.

Four days later, however, Orianne was shaking her head as they stood in the tattoo parlor, surrounded by wall to wall sample drawings. "I've changed my mind."

"Why?"

"I don't know," she answered, knowing she didn't have an excuse.

"That's what I thought."

"Dave Batista, man, you back for another?" a red-headed, tattoo covered man called, coming from out of the back of the parlor and hugging the wrestler.

"I am thinking about another one but I'm actually here with a friend. This is Orianne Thomas-Anderson and she's looking for something specific."

"Orianne, nice to meet you," the man said, extending his hand. "A friend of Dave's is a friend of mine. I'm Scott Frazer. Come on back and tell me what it is you want."

The black-haired woman was absolutely terrified over what she was getting into. Dave had told her over and over that it really was nothing but this was entirely new to her. She pulled up the edge of her skirt to show Scott her ankle while Dave explained his idea. The tattoo artist disappeared for a moment and came back with an opened book of samples. "This close to what you want."

"Yeah," she replied, "It's exactly like I imagined."

"Alright, let's go," Frazer responded and led her over to the dentist style chair. He called one of his assistants over and handed her the book before she disappeared. Scott walked Orianne through the process and before she knew it, the woman had returned with the stencil for the design transfer.

The photographer admitted that she didn't want to watch. No matter how many times she had been stuck with needles in the past, which were plenty, she still couldn't watch to this day. After the design was transferred on and her approval obtained, she reached for Dave's hand as Scott arranged his tools. When he began outlining the design, she clamped down tight, her fingers starting to bite into Dave's flesh.

"Orianne, breathe," he firmly stated, prying her hand out of his and massaging her fingers. She let out the breath she was holding and realized that it really wasn't excruciating as she thought. However, she sure as hell didn't let go of him when he let her hold his hand again but, before she knew it, Scott was announcing that he was finished.

She slowly turned her head to look at the finished product. A dark purple crescent moon was underneath her ankle with three black stars at the top. Above her ankle was a rising yellow and orange sun, no more than the size of a quarter. The rays curled like flames from the sun's surface. "Wow," she replied, staring at the brilliant color.

Frazer applied a hot towel over the tattoo and then handed her a chilled bottle of water. "You did great," he said and then took his seat again to finish. He slathered on the ointment and then taped a bandage in place, reminding her again of how to take care of it before handing her a printed copy of the instructions.

"I'm absolutely crazy," Orianne laughed as they exited out the door. "I can't believe I did it," she said, glancing down at the white bandage.

He couldn't help but laugh with her and then kissed her when they were seated in his Lexus. "Wanna get some lunch before we go back and pack?"

"Perfect," she replied, still grinning from ear to ear. They still had a few hours before they had to be on their flight from D.C. to Mobile. "But _you _have to put the bedroom back in order."

"Only if I get some form of payment first. It wouldn't look like that if you weren't here."

"I think I can handle that," Orianne replied with a smirk that said he was in for a treat.

"You know, you can't claim anymore that you're safe with someone like me," he said with a husky voice, pulling her in for another kiss and cupping her breast.

"Stop it," she replied, smacking his hand away. "We'll never get around to lunch." The woman recalled exactly what he was talking about. It was what he had suggested she say to Sloan to satisfy her husband about her going out in the visiting cities with Dave.

* * *

"Look," Orianne said, twirling her bare ankle for Cara at lunch. "Can you believe I did it?" she asked with a grin.

"No way. I thought you were too stuffy to do something like that," she replied, admiring the tattoo.

_The things you don't know, _the black-haired woman wanted to reply. "Oh, Orrin and Olivia are here," she suddenly said, standing up and waving at the pair that had just entered the bistro. The two hurried over and Orianne made introductions. She was making good on promises to let them visit RAW and they were with her in Birmingham now for a houseshow and Monday in Huntsville for the live show.

"What were you showing Cara?" Olivia asked, not one to beat around the bush.

"Well," Orianne began with a tight-lipped grin and then burst out into a smile before sticking her leg out for her siblings.

"Mom is going to kill you," her sister exclaimed.

"Didn't know you had it in you, sis," Orrin added.

"I'm full of surprises. I've got Shawn Michaels to see you around tonight and tomorrow night," she revealed with wide smile. Olivia squealed with glee and Orrin shook his head in disbelief.

Orianne turned her brother and sister over to Shawn that night and didn't see either of them again until late in the night when they both slogged into Orianne's hotel room they were sharing. Shawn had informed her that they somehow had made it into Edge and Lita's capable hands and not to worry about them—they would make it back safe.

Even though she didn't have to be at the arena until a couple of hours after the wrestlers, Orianne dragged them out of bed to get them there when Shawn would arrive. "You asked me to," she replied when Olivia complained, holding a hand to her eyes as her sister pulled open the curtains on their fifth floor room. She ferried them to the arena and back into the hands of HBK. "I'm gonna go ahead and assume I won't see you 'til in the morning," she said to them, handing Orrin the cardkey to their room. "I'll stay with a friend so you won't wake me up."

After RAW, Orianne packed a small bag and then buttoned up in her long dresscoat before leaving her room. She had told Dave about leaving her room to Orrin and Olivia and he was expecting her. "Why are you wrapped up in that?" he asked as she shut the door behind her.

"Just because," she replied, tossing the bag aside and unbuttoning the coat to reveal what was underneath.

"Ori," he breathed out, looking over her strappy, low heels, red toenails and then her body clad in his blue dress shirt. "I forgot about my shirt."

"You like?" she asked and he vigorously nodded. "Good," she replied and slowly advanced on him, pushing him down on the bed and straddling him.

* * *

Gabrielle Dean Edwards was due this week and Dave was a nervous wreck. Shannon, their mutual friend, had acted as Gabrielle's mouthpiece since the former model refused to speak to him. Shannon had barely talked the woman into a paternity test at the last minute. Dave had had blood drawn for the prenatal DNA testing, which was Orianne's idea, and the results were supposed to have been back yesterday. Shannon at least promised to call when Gabrielle went into labor.

Orianne was staying with Dave for the week, the both of them hiding from the world in his bedroom. They ventured out a few times at his request to get her opinion on two townhouses and a loft apartment he was considering buying. Dave didn't want to admit that he wanted her there to literally hold his hand when the baby was born. The real estate showings were just a ruse to have her there to calm his nerves. He was never more at peace than when they were together. However, he did feel guilty when she suddenly closed in on herself after seeing the second townhouse. "I just wish I had a place to settle, a place to call home. This place is definitely you," she quietly said and he could see the wistful look in her eyes. To make it up, he took her on a shopping spree, which ended up including a second set of ear piercings for her.

Dave's cellphone rang while Orianne was hiding out in the bathroom, teasing him through the door about the new lingerie from their earlier shopping trip that she was having trouble deciding on wearing for him. "They took Gabrielle to the hospital," he shouted through the door.

Orianne stopped mid-thigh with the black satin panties she was pulling on when she realized what Dave had said. She struggled into the underwear and quickly pulled her jeans and sweater back on. "When?" she breathlessly asked as he moved in circles, looking for his shirt and shoes.

"A couple of hours ago. Shannon waited until she was dilated to call."

Orianne quickly pulled her wedding ring off and dropped it on the dresser. They had joked about pretending they were together so that Shannon or Kyle would see them and then tell Gabrielle. She didn't feel bad about it when the woman would be extremely emotional. If her husband or friend felt the need to tell her immediately, then she deserved it because of the people she chose to surround herself with. The more she thought about how the woman had done Dave wrong, the angrier she got. Then she realized that it didn't matter how much they joked about it, Dave's emotions were running too high to play around and she reached to put the ring back on but wasn't quick enough as he grabbed her arm and practically dragged her out the door.

Dave was single-minded as he drove to the hospital in creeping traffic as a result of construction and Orianne didn't attempt to draw him into conversation. They were both thinking they would miss the baby's birth but Orianne was glad of it. She had been praying that they'd be on the road touring for the birth so it would become a situation at all. Kyle would probably refuse to let him anywhere near the newborn and she didn't want an embarrassing showdown in the hospital. If only the results had come in yesterday… When they arrived, he took her hand in his, needing the feel of something solid, as they made their way in and inquired about directions to the maternity ward. The second they stepped foot in the waiting room, four pairs of eyes stared Dave down menacingly. Orianne instinctively put a protective hand in the crook of his elbow, knowing that this had to be the Dean-Edwards family. A fifth person rose from her seat and approached Dave.

"She's already had the baby. It's a girl," the teenager said softly. "Mom and baby are doing fine."

"Thanks, Ashlee," Dave replied to Gabrielle's baby sister. "When can we see her?"

"A nurse said they'd come get us in about half an hour."

Dave ran a hand across the stubble on his jaw and nodded before looking around for empty seats away from her family. He had yet to let go of Orianne's hand and she wasn't about to let go of his. He was so nervous that he bounced his knee up and down to the point where the black-haired woman put a soothing hand on his thigh. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's okay," she replied and gently squeezed his leg, leaving her hand there. Orianne could feel the scrutinizing eyes on them and she was right in thinking they assumed she was his new girlfriend. They seemed like such assholes that it served them right to be aghast at him bringing his lover with him.

Eventually a nurse came, calling for Gabrielle's and Kyle's families. He tried to hold himself back and let them go first but it was becoming difficult. Orianne squeezed his arm hard and he looked down at her. "It's gonna be fine," she whispered and he slowed his pace behind the people who had once considered him one of their own. He held his breath and the other five people crowded around the window to the nursery where a nurse held Gabrielle's baby up for them to see. Ashlee backed away first and gestured for Dave to come forward. Orianne stayed a step behind him and he held her hand in the crook of his back.

"She's beautiful," he whispered but no one heard him. He still didn't want a child but if this girl was his, she was the most beautiful baby he had ever seen.

Orianne was finally able to see and she was highly disappointed to find that the little girl was entirely bald. The woman had hoped that the child would have some blonde fuzz so that Dave could quit worrying. She vaguely heard a small voice say, "Dave's here," and she turned around to see a massive man with blonde hair staring at the two of them. She tugged on Dave's jacket and he too turned around to see Kyle Edwards. If Dave wanted to start something here, he would have to physically drag her with him, she thought, latching onto his arm as he made his way towards Kyle.

"We got the results earlier today," he stated flatly.

TBC…

**Author's Notes: **I am so cruel and I know it—Muwahaha! (That's supposed to be an evil laugh in case you didn't catch on.) Stayed tuned! I feel like Maury Povich saying this, but the results when we come back!


	18. Melodramatic Sisters

**Author's Notes: **I am aware that Dave Batista is not forty. When I originally planned this fic, I had incorrect information that would make him that age. I have chosen not to change it now despite that because forty works better than thirty-seven for the points made and it's fanfic afterall.

Now to the second installment of the Maury Povich show.

_**Chapter XVIII: Melodramatic Sisters**_

"We got the results earlier today," Edwards stated flatly and then growled, "she's mine."

"I don't believe you," Dave scoffed and Kyle jerked a piece of paper out of his back pocket, both oblivious to the sighs of relief from the group standing behind them.

"There's your proof. It's your copy of the results. If you don't believe me, call them and verify it."

Batista's nostrils were flaring with anger as he stared Kyle down. Had Orianne not whispered to him something about it being time to leave, he might have punched the arrogant bastard. He folded the paper once in his large hand and shoved it in his own pocket before heading for the door, Orianne still hanging from his arm, one hand in his, and trying to keep up.

When they made it back to his Lexus, he finally let her hand go for the first time since arriving at the hospital. Yet, he still didn't speak. He was in shock, like someone who had just been severely injured. She finally broke the silence as they pulled into his apartment complex and said, "Do you think maybe you should call your parents? I think your mother would want to know."

"Yeah," he replied, climbing out of the car. He handed her the keys and told her to go on in and then he pulled his cellphone from his pocket, along with the sheet of paper Kyle had given him. He unfolded it and stared at it for a moment and relief suddenly washed over him. Gabrielle could forever be put behind him; she was now completely out of his life and he never had to give her a second thought. That poor little girl though…maybe his ex would take better care of her than she did him. Dave then called his mother and spoke with her briefly, declining her invitation for him to come over and her cook some dessert to make him feel better. He had something better waiting on him inside.

Pushing the door open, he saw Orianne quickly rise from where she was sitting on his couch, her elbows on her knees and her hands balled under chin. She looked at him expectantly, not knowing what to say or do, and he rushed forward, picking her up and swinging her around. He pulled her into the bedroom, flicking on a dim lamp. Tonight she saw a different side of Dave. He was gentle and excruciatingly slow in his love-making and he had her whimpering his name long before he was done.

* * *

Orianne and Dave had finished breakfast and were heading out of the hotel for a morning walk on Fort Walton's beach when she heard a voice she knew. Turning in the direction from where she heard it, the woman saw her sister standing at the hotel desk. "Olivia?" she called.

The smaller black-haired woman turned around and then blanched. She had no choice but to greet her sibling. "Orianne, hey. Oh, hi, Dave," she added, seeing the wrestler a few feet behind her. "What are y'all doing?"

"No, what are _you _doing?"

"I…well, I…" she stuttered.

"Spit it out, Liv."

"I'm here to see Randy Orton."

"What?" Orianne sputtered.

"I knew you'd be mad," Olivia replied with a sigh. "Randy and I are dating."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, we are. He said you wouldn't understand, that Cara had lied to you and you hated him for it."

"Olivia," her sister sternly said, pulling her away from the desk and Batista, "every rumor you've heard about Randy is true."

"How do you know? Have you seen him do all this stuff you've heard?"

"Trust me. He's just using you. Have y'all had sex?" Olivia blushed and shook her head in response, looking away. Orianne grabbed her arm and pulled her close. "That's all he's using you for. I promise. You're just another notch on the bedpost."

"I don't believe you. He's been so kind and sweet and the utmost gentleman. No guy I've ever dated has treated me this good."

"How long have you known him? Two weeks?" Her sister nodded. "You can't _know_ him in two weeks. Please, please don't sleep with him," Orianne pleaded.

"It's none of your business," Olivia replied and jerked her arm away. "Just so you know, he'll be at Thanksgiving dinner next week." They both saw Orton come through the revolving glass door at the same time and Olivia hurried over to him, giving him a quick kiss.

"That son of a bitch," Orianne muttered, starting for the couple. She wanted to slap the taste out of his mouth as he smirked at her after the kiss. "I will—" she began but Dave grabbed her around the waist and hauled her out the side door before she realized what had happened.

"What exactly are you going to do?" he asked, his arm still firmly around her waist until they were down the boardwalk. "He's a wrestler; you wouldn't get one punch in."

"I'm gonna nail the asshole in the balls. See if he can sleep with my sister then," she angrily muttered and then turned to Dave. "You could have at least let me give him a piece of my mind. Threaten to turn him in for what he did to me."

"You'll only make it worse between you and Olivia and you know it'd only be his word against yours."

"He's going to be at Thanksgiving dinner. I can't believe my mom would let him come."

"He probably called her and sweet-talked her. He's got a silver tongue. If you want, you can come to my parents," Dave offered as if it was nothing.

"No, I couldn't. I'd put up with Satan himself before I'd let my father down."

Their walk on the beach was utterly ruined. Orianne couldn't get Olivia and Randy out of her mind. Usually, she found being out in public with Dave like foreplay. Their inability to touch each other heightened their desire until they could give in to their cravings that night, intensifying their passion. The photographer sulked as she kicked at the sand and wondered how she was going to handle this. She didn't see her sister again until the evening before Thanksgiving when Orrin, her father, and Orianne pulled up in the driveway after the two picked her up from the airport.

Olivia and Randy sat on the front porch, wrapped in blankets and sipping her mother's apple cider. Marian emerged from the house and wrapped her eldest daughter in a hug. Orianne flashed Olivia an angry glare and the younger woman turned away, looking cowed. Being eight years apart, they had hardly fought, mainly because her mother was overprotective of her, using her accident as an excuse to frighten them out of fighting. However, Olivia knew she couldn't win a verbal war with her. But with Randy there, she knew that her older sister wouldn't start something. That was partially true because Orianne got into a shouting match with her mother with regards to where Randy was staying. If Dave, a _friend _of hers, had to stay in the guesthouse, then so did Olivia's _boyfriend. _

Olivia slammed the dishes down on the counter and glared at Orianne after her comment. "Mom, Orianne has a tattoo," she bluntly stated out of nowhere and ran off crying like a baby when her sister turned on her, doing her best to resist physically lashing out at her.

"What?" Marian exclaimed. "Orianne Isabelle Thomas-Anderson, is that true?"

Shit, she used all four of her names. "Yes."

"Let me see it," her mother demanded and she pulled up her jeans leg and pushed down her bright orange socks. "My heavens! Where's your father?"

"Orrin has one too," Orianne suddenly added and then wondered from where this immature brat had arisen within her.

"Orrin Isaac Thomas!" Marian yelled at the top of her lungs. Her twin brother rushed into the kitchen, a deer caught in headlights look on his face. "Do you have a tattoo?" His wide eyes looked back and forth between his mother and his sister. Finally, he nodded. "I don't believe it," their mother said. "Well, let me see it."

The man pulled his t-shirt over his head and turned his back to his mother. On his left shoulder was the head of a black Arabian with a soft white spot on his nose and his mane blowing in the wind. Orianne knew that tattoo was done from a picture of his beloved horse, Agamemnon, that he had had put down three years ago due to an injury during one of his rodeo circuit runs. She felt so guilty for saying anything as their mother recognized the horse as well. She slowly shook her head as Orrin pulled his shirt back in place. "Sorry," he muttered.

"I don't believe the two of you," Marian said, her voice now her normal tone, albeit a little shaky. "I'm terribly embarrassed. I take it you don't go around town showing them off." Both of them shook their heads. "Well, good," she added, "Orrin, the horses are waiting. Go check on them and get back in out of the cold."

He shuffled off and then her mother turned on her. Marian gave her oldest daughter a tongue-lashing for making Olivia cry, the tattoo not a topic of discussion anymore. In the end, Orianne won their initial argument with regards to Orton and he was banished to the guesthouse, even though, in truth, she would rather be there.

The next day at dinner, had Orianne not known the real Randy Orton, she too might have become as enamored with him as her mother. Orrin had a healthy suspicion of him but told her to give him the benefit of the doubt when she could only admit that she had heard the rumors. She had yet to ask her father but anybody who wanted to date his youngest daughter was the devil in disguise. Maybe her father could talk some sense into Olivia.

Father and daughter leaned over the wooden fence and watched the two of their retired horses recapture their youth kicking around an old basketball. "She has to make her own mistakes," Carter stated.

"She's twenty-one. She's barely old enough to drink."

"She'll be twenty-two next month," her father gently reminded her

"It's not my point. She doesn't realize what she's getting into with him."

"Do you know something you're not telling us?" the older man asked, turning scrutinizing eyes on her.

"If I did and it would stop this nonsense, then I'd waste no time telling you," Orianne lied but she couldn't admit to her family that she had dinner with Orton and what had happened afterwards. "He'll break her heart."

"I don't like it one bit either but I can't stop her. She has to learn."

"Will you just talk to her, remind her about the birds and the bees?"

Carter chuckled and then replied, "I'll say something to her."

* * *

Randy stayed through Friday and Olivia drove him to the airport Saturday morning. Orianne hardly saw the two of them as they seemed to find more to do away from the ranch than she and Batista had. That evening her younger sister had her car packed and already headed back to the university before Orianne knew it. The photographer had packed for RAW before she left Stamford and Orrin dropped her off for her flight as well, the both of them arguing about everything under the sun the entire way there. She honestly didn't think she was going to arrive in Seattle for RAW fast enough because she desperately needed Dave Batista to relieve the tension from the worst Thanksgiving she had ever had. Although tonight was another party between the two brands, they had decided last weekend that they would stay in since there had been no houseshows and they had yet to see each other—not to mention Orianne's lapse of judgment at the last one. They were really making excuses just to stay in with each other.

"Shut up and strip," she ordered after he barely got the door closed.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a broad grin.

When they finally lay in each other's arms, bodies glistening with a sheen of sweat, Dave asked, "Bad week, huh?"

"I can't even begin to explain."

"You should have called me," he replied, tracing a finger across her jaw

"And ruin your postcard holiday?"

"I got in a fight with my older sister."

"Hell must have frozen over," Orianne mocked, rolling her eyes.

"We fought all the time growing up," Dave stated, pulling his arm out from under her and then shifting on his side

"What about? Who loves their mother the most?"

"No, it was actually about when I'm going to settle down and have kids." Orianne raised her eyebrows. "I've never told them I have no intention of having kids or that I'm not ready to get married. She heard about Gabrielle's baby and mentioned it and then it went all downhill from there. 'You're turning forty next month'," Dave mocked in a high pitched voice and added sarcastically, "Thanks for the reminder, sis."

That wasn't the extent of the argument and the wrestler didn't want to tell Orianne the rest; it would only worry her. Somehow, Dana had gotten wind that he had had a woman with him that night at the hospital. "Some tall, pretty woman," his sister had said, "Didn't sound like your type though." He had taken that as an affront to Orianne, even though Dana couldn't know her. He had bit back at her about her calling him shallow and she had cocked one eyebrow and asked, "Are you?" His choices of women in the past differed greatly from Orianne but none of them were as intelligent, considerate, or had the depth of her personality. Dave wished he and Dana were still ten and six years old so he could tackle her about trying to needle him into admitting who the mystery woman was, albeit unsuccessfully, and if they were going to meet her.

"Well, I can tell you this, you are the hottest forty-year-old I've ever seen," Orianne stated, interrupting his thoughts.

"Not yet," he chided and tickled her side.

She snorted in laughter and pushed his hand away. "Seriously, how was your holiday?"

"It was good," he replied with a nod, "I see most of my family every week anyhow. Speaking of family, you haven't said one thing about next week's trip."

"That's because I don't want to talk about it."

"You've got to be thinking about it."

"All the time…except when I'm with you," she added with a grin and ran her hand under the sheets and across the flat plane of his stomach. He reached for her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers, bringing them to his mouth to kiss.

"What _are _your plans for next week?" Dave asked.

Orianne had been slammed a few weeks ago when it was announced in the informational meeting that one of the military bases they would be touring for their annual holiday trip to entertain the troops would be Sloan's. Vince appeared to be quite proud of himself, wrangling a base for one of his employees' family. She wondered who he was trying to garner brownie points with because it definitely wasn't her. It would probably be written up in the corporate reports regarding his image. "I honestly don't know. Shea told me the other day that she moved my flight back by one night so I could stay with Sloan longer."

"Are you?"

"Yeah, I guess." She was torn between wanting to stay with Sloan and feeling guilty about seeing him while she was still sleeping with Dave.

The wrestler was jealous at her response. He had been jealous of Sloan ever since he had touched the man's wife. He knew their time would be up in less than two and a half months but that didn't stop the green-eyed monster of envy. "You do whatever you need to," he replied.

"I got the schedule the other day and it seems I can see him for a couple of hours while y'all tour the base before the show and then I can stay the night. It's not really that much time."

"Yeah, they get us in and get us out," Dave replied, motioning quickly with his hand in one direction and then in the opposite direction.

"You'll have to meet him, I suppose," Orianne mused

"I can be civil."

"Oh, I know that. It's just funny that—" She suddenly stopped and gasped. "What if someone says something about us being related?" Dave had been gently tracing his fingers over her thigh but abruptly ceased at her words. "Why didn't we think that he might find out one way or another?" With Sloan absent, it had hardly been on his mind. He was too wrapped up in her to even care what the man thought. If it wasn't for her wish to save her marriage, he hoped that her husband would find out about the lie and about them. He still thought she deserved better. "We haven't even talked about my family finding out the truth. How stupid were we?"

"Yeah," he said with a short sigh. "We'll come up with something. Maybe no one will say anything to him. I won't if you won't."

"Cross my heart. But still…" Why hadn't they thought about this, Orianne mused. Only Cara had mentioned it to her one time and they had gotten by with the diva shoot at her parents. Maybe no one cared and, with that false sense of security, it wasn't even on the two lovers' minds. Even Orrin and Olivia hadn't said one word either, another testament to the fact that the wrestlers and staff didn't care. It would have been easier to make up a lie on the spot with the two of them than with her husband.

"We'll just say it was a rumor. Someone overheard a conversation, misunderstood what we were talking about, and before we knew it, everybody thought it and we couldn't change it."

"Perfect," Orianne exclaimed, sitting up in excitement. "I knew there was a reason I liked you." She leaned down to kiss him, her dark hair enveloping them in a curtain.

* * *

After RAW the next week, Orianne didn't see Dave again, except in the ring, until after their trip. They were also on different flights, separate planes for the staff and the wrestlers. At least she had Cara, who was bouncing up and down with excitement for the photographer reuniting with her husband. Even if Orianne wasn't having an affair with Dave, she would still be nervous. Her last words to Sloan in person weren't exactly that of a loving wife. She hadn't forgotten the ultimatum but it seemed he had. None of his e-mails or letters had mentioned it but none of them were attempting to show his decision either way. It had been three months since his phone call, chewing her out for taking part in RAW the way she had. There had been only a few more letters and they were written as if nothing had changed. She was trying to formulate a way to subtly remind him of that heavy decision. If the woman said nothing, he might as well assume that she hadn't meant the words in the first place.

"Do you realize it's been a month and a half since you threatened me about asking Cedarius out?" Cara asked, literally bouncing out of her seat.

Orianne dropped her book in her lap. "How could I have forgotten?" Dave Batista was actually how she had forgotten.

"You seem to have been preoccupied lately."

"But the two of you don't talk ringside," she replied but then gasped. "I should have seen it then. Why haven't you said anything?"

"Well, I didn't exactly ask him out and I wasn't going to remind you."

"Then tell me what happened?"

Cara entertained Orianne for a while longer, telling her about how everything had changed between her and Cedarius after they had danced that night in the club. They were like teenagers in love, sending shy glances, not speaking to each other, and then it happened—they kissed. Even though they had each wanted to be with the other for too long, it was all so new and they didn't know how to act any differently around each other at work. They hadn't progressed to the point of introducing each other to their respective families. They were contemplating doing that at Christmas, a time when people were a little more accepting of each other. Because of budget constraints, Cedarius, along with Dennis, had been left behind for the trip.

Orianne wasn't one for international travel; the long hours didn't suit her but Cara stuck close, giving her the lift she needed to make it until she came face to face with Captain Sloan Anderson. He held his arms out to her and she dropped her bags to embrace him. She pulled back to study him: he had a few more wrinkles, more of his hair had turned gray, and his green eyes were weary. She almost forgot about her demands of him, wanting him to hold her close. He kissed her softly first and she forced herself not to draw back.

"It's so good to see you. You are a sight for sore eyes," he said and she smiled as he took her hand. "Have you been exercising more? You've lost weight."

"I'm glad somebody noticed," she replied, realizing exactly why she was a little slimmer—a look of late night "work-outs" with Dave Batista.

"You look great. Let me show you around and then we'll get something to eat. You haven't had anything to eat yet, have you?"

"Don't you want to meet all the wrestlers too?" she asked, referring to the meet and greet for the base.

"Not when I can be with you," he replied, kissing her forehead.

After her own personal tour and a lunch together, the two talked of home. Sloan wanted to hear about the Thomases and Orianne kept it only to the positive aspects—nothing about her and her mother fighting, Olivia dating Randy Orton, or that her father seemed to be aging faster these days. Every time he asked her something, his green eyes staring into her blue ones, she knew he could see the truth. When he asked about Batista, she almost dropped the glass of Coke she was holding. Her legs grew numb and her stomach sick until she realized that he was only asking if Dave was still escorting her around.

Before she knew it, it was time for the show. After another hug and a kiss, Sloan let her go and she hurried off, her heart beating fast within her chest. Her life would be easier if the earth opened up and swallowed her whole. It didn't help that Cara wanted to be as nosy as possible. She felt her heart lift somewhat when Dave caught her eyes with his while he was in the ring. She smiled at him to let him know that she was doing alright. He could only nod at her as he had to stay in character.

Little did Orianne know that Batista had spoken with Sloan only moments before the show. After her husband had seen her off, he headed for where he knew the wrestlers were waiting to start the show. His clearance allowed him in and he easily found Batista since it was hard to miss such a person of his magnitude.

Dave heard his name called and turned around to find himself face to face with a man a couple inches shorter than he and dressed in fatigues. When he noticed the soldier's last name, he put the familiar face from Orianne's pictures with the name and his mouth suddenly went dry. "Sir?"

"Sloan Anderson. You know my wife."

"Orianne. Yes, sir," Batista replied, taking Sloan's outstretched hand.

"Thought I'd take a moment to thank you for watching out for her."

"She's a remarkable woman. It seems I'm only there to carry her camera bags."

"Orianne's a piece of work. I'll be home soon and I'll take her off your hands."

"It's been my pleasure," Dave replied, plastering on a smile. It had been pleasurable indeed but he wasn't ready to give her up. He was pea-green with envy and felt this oddly innate masculine need to call the man out and wrestle him for his wife.

"So, tell me exactly how the two of you met and she wrangled you into being her bodyguard."

Batista swallowed hard. Was this a test? He had no idea what Orianne might have told him, if anything. Had they been so wrapped up in each other that they didn't even consider this as well? So, he went with the most feasible explanation and told him about the poker games during the weekend. Sloan intently listened and chuckled at the thought of Orianne aggressively playing poker. Dave was so angry that the man hardly knew his wife. Depending on her mood, aggressive was her middle name. Anderson thanked him again, repeating that he'd be back home in two months. Dave wanted to ask if that was a threat towards him but knew that anything other than polite conversation would be a dead giveaway. It was Orianne's place to tell her husband about the affair, if she was ever going to.

TBC…


	19. Her Halo or Her Horns

**Author's Notes: **Rise in rating but only slightly. Somewhere between T and M.

**_Chapter XIX: Her Halo or Her Horns_**

Sloan waited patiently for Orianne to complete her duties for the WWE before she was free for the evening. He proudly displayed her before the other men and women on the base by bringing her to dinner and eating with them. She had expected a lone, romantic dinner but at least he was still showing her off instead of hiding her after the harangue she received about embarrassing him that night on RAW. However, the talk that she expected happened thereafter.

The guest quarters, such as where members of the USO tours would stay, were made up for her and Sloan had rearranged a few things. He would be spending the night with her but only one person cots were available. He had found all the blankets and pillows possible and made them a comfy pallet on the floor. She was rather impressed but extremely hesitant when he pulled her towards the mass of blankets. Orianne told herself it was because she didn't want him thinking all was right with them, even though this niggling thought said it was because it wasn't Dave Batista taking her to bed.

Her husband thoroughly kissed her and then patted the make-shift bed beside him. "Come'ere," he gently said and pulled her up against him where he reclined against the wall. "I've been thinking about when I get home," he started, putting his arms around her.

Orianne's heart soared at his statement and wrapped her hands over his. "Yeah?"

"Are you in a contract that you'll have to break?"

"What do you mean—that I'll _have _to break?" she asked, trying to keep an accusatory tone out of her voice.

"I just thought that you'd quit when I came back. They can't expect you to fly back and forth to Stamford just to develop their pictures while you're already on the road for over half the week."

Orianne bit her tongue, too exhausted to fight. "And what is it you propose I do?"

"Whatever you can find when we get settled, like always," Sloan replied as if it was nothing.

"Like always," she muttered but then replied clearly, "What would be so wrong about us moving to Stamford?"

"I don't know if I can be reassigned anywhere near there."

She almost replied, "But you could try?" But that would insinuate that she had changed her mind about the ultimatum that she had laid down. Her head was beginning to hurt and her entire leg had been aching for hours. She pulled her shoes off and tossed them aside before turning on to her right side and stretching her left.

"Here, let me," Sloan offered, moving within reach of her feet. She started to pull away but he already had her left foot in his hand and the red, white, and blue sock whipped off. He started massaging her heel but then looked down so that he wouldn't accidentally push too hard on her ankle. "What's this?" he asked, the tattoo on her ankle at the center of his hands.

"Uh, well, it's what it looks like."

"Is it real?" he asked, turning her ankle back and forth to inspect the tattoo.

"Yeah."

"Ori, what is this place doing to you?"

She angrily jerked her leg away. "I'm the happiest I've ever been. I like it and I want to keep working with them," she furiously replied.

"This is not you."

"How would you know? You're never home."

"You know why, too, Orianne." He sternly said her name as if she was a petulant child being reprimanded.

"Sloan, I meant every word—"

"Let's not fight. I'll be home in two months. For right now, I just want to be with my wife." She opened her mouth in a retort but he then pleaded, "Please."

Orianne glanced away and he repositioned himself with her back leaning on his chest. He stroked her hair until she relaxed against him again. She was already exhausted beyond belief and going on thirty-six hours without any sleep with the exception of a couple catnaps. When Sloan began to softly sing an Irish blessing that his grandmother would sing to help him sleep, the only legacy he had left from his childhood, she couldn't stay awake, his rich baritone soothing her into slumber.

Orianne woke to a freshly shaved and showered Sloan waving coffee under her nose. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About ten hours."

Forgetting about her fight with him last night, she suddenly sat up. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner? I have to leave soon."

"You have time for a shower and for us to have some breakfast before you fly out of here."

"Are you coming with me to the airport?"

"No, I have to stay here," he apologetically answered and helped her rise from the blankets.

"Oh," she disappointedly replied and wondered how she could be so angry with someone and love them so much at the same time.

Par for course, Orianne and Sloan said little to each other as she repacked her small suitcase and they ate breakfast.

"Two months, baby," he whispered as he hugged her for the last time while she was there.

"And then you'll have an answer for me?" she asked, not letting him go yet.

"What?" he asked, pulling back to look her in the eyes and then realizing what she meant. "Yeah, yeah, we'll talk as soon as I'm back." He kissed her on the forehead, entwining his fingers in hers and helping her into the helicopter. When the chopper started, he reluctantly let her hand go and watched her forlorn face rise into the air. He made his decision then and there what exactly he was going to do and he was sure that it was a compromise that she would have no problem with.

* * *

Being a day behind the other staff and wrestlers, Orianne flew into New York Monday morning and was immediately whisked away by cab to Madison Square Garden. She had seen her apartment for approximately sixteen hours before getting back onto a plane, and twelve of those hours were actually her watching the back of her eyelids. She had called Dave to let him know that she was back in the U.S. safe and sound but had to leave a message. He had caught her while she was on the plane and left her one as well. Her knees grew weak at his obscene message and she couldn't wait for RAW to be over.

When Dave knocked on her door, she jerked him inside the hotel room and pulled him down hard for a kiss that left them both gasping for air. "What was that for?" he breathlessly asked.

"Because I've missed you," she replied, even though she would rather have said, _Because my life sucks and my husband doesn't get me._

"Was your trip that bad?"

"It would have been much better if you had been with me."

"Let me make it better," he growled suggestively, walking her backwards towards the bed.

"I guess that would be alright," she feigned disinterest.

He chuckled low in his throat and carefully laid her down on the bed, ever so slowly stripping her of all clothing. She was quivering in anticipation and her fingers trembled when she reached for the buttons on his shirt. "Wait, I have a surprise," he whispered. "Close your eyes."

"What is it?" she asked, wiggling in excitement.

"No peeking," he chided and she heard clothing rustling. Dave was still clothed when he straddled her and pushed her arms above her head, running his hands from her elbows up to her fingers. "Keep'em closed," he said and then wrapped a thick cloth around her wrists.

Her eyes shot wide open and she twisted to see what he was doing but she was too late to protest his scarf, which he had had under the collar of his trench coat when he came in, tied around her hands and knotted to the headboard. "Hey, now," she protested, pulling against the knot.

"Hey," he softly replied with a devilish grin and slid off her. The wrestler then proceeded to stare at her lustfully as he peeled out of his own clothes. Every time Orianne licked her lips, Dave grew harder. He had to remind himself that he had planned on driving her mad with desire, making her want him and no one else.

One breast and then the other, he caressed and played until she was begging him to let her go. When he trailed his hot lips down her stomach and then to her thighs, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. She arched her back when his tongue teased her sensitive nub and then plunged inside her. "Please," she begged, blindly jerking at the scarf, "please."

"Please what?" he murmured against her thigh, his deep voice vibrating against her skin.

"Now," she gasped. "I want you now."

Dave climbed back up on the bed and raised her hips up to meet his. She called out his name and he covered her mouth with his, his hands reaching up to deftly untie her bonds. Her fingers immediately dug into his back as he moved within her. Each thrust brought them higher and higher and Orianne thought each one was going to drive her over the edge. When she honestly thought she was going to explode rather than find release, her world came toppling down and all existence forgotten but the man who held her close. No hotel room, no bed, even her body was no longer flesh but waves of ecstasy that rolled between her and his body.

When the world had finally turned right side up again, the two pulled the sheet over them and lay face to face, their foreheads touching. "Can I ask you something?" Dave whispered and she nodded in response. "Since we're lying to everybody else, we can be honest with each other, right?"

"Yes," she hesitantly replied.

"Did you sleep with Sloan while we were over there?"

Orianne felt like she should be mad at him for asking about something so private between her and her husband but she couldn't help but chuckle. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

"Maybe," he replied and her heart caught in her throat. This affair wasn't supposed to have any emotions like that involved. Four months, no strings attached, that's all they had said.

"I didn't," she replied, brushing his lips with hers.

"Why?"

"The biggest reason is that the opportunity never really came up."

While her heart was beating fast at his jealousy, Dave's had deflated. He somehow, even though they couldn't feel this way, wanted to hear her say that it was because of him. He made a noncommittal noise and laid his forehead back against hers. After a few minutes of silence, Dave spoke again. "Do you want to come visit D.C. again and maybe meet my family?"

"I put you through the torture of mine. I guess I could attempt to survive the sugarshock of yours."

There was nothing Batista could do to make her believe that his family was just as normal as everybody else's. "Do you really want to come or not?"

"Of course, I do," she replied with a smile. Orianne could use some normalcy, compared to a passive-aggressive mother, a sister dating the last man on the planet she wanted to see, and an absent husband.

Just like Randy Orton had been at the Thomases', with the exception that she was genuine, Orianne was the center of attention in the Batista home, whether or not she wanted to be. Dana brought her three children, one girl and two boys, sixteen, twelve, and nine, respectively. Derek, Dave's younger brother by six years, also carved time out of his busy schedule to drop in with his fiancée.

Dave had made it abundantly clear that Orianne was married and that they were _not _dating. He only asked his family to give her some support at a difficult time of the year—the Christmas holidays—while her husband was away. They agreed for that reason but also to figure out this woman. Dave didn't have female friends of this caliber. Dana had assumed it was because his bitch of a live-in girlfriend wouldn't let him. What kind of woman would be Dave's friend if she wasn't dating him or trying to get his money? That was not to mention that, after Gabrielle betrayed him, they had started noticing a change in him about the same time he started talking about Orianne to them. Now, he was not the same man before or right after Gabrielle ended their relationship. Derek was particularly interested in finding this woman's halo or her horns.

Hea and Hector Batista owned five highly successful Greek restaurants and could have retired if they wanted. However, the couple often spent days and sometimes evenings serving in one of the dining establishments they would one day bequeath to Dana, the only one of the three who had taken an interest in running them. Dave's parents intentionally remained home from the restaurants to greet Orianne and cook her a magnificent dinner.

The photographer hadn't laughed so hard in a long time as she listened to the Batista family tell embarrassing anecdotes on Dave and the occasional one Dave could slip in about them. She loved to see him blush; it made him seem vulnerable and she only saw him that way when she had him at her mercy in bed. His family had tried to get her to talk about herself and she gave them the basics but managed to derail their questions when she got them started on tattling on Dave's childhood and teenage years.

When the meal was finished, Orianne automatically began to help clean up; it was only fitting as they had spent so much time cooking the meal. However, Hea shooed her away and drew the grandchildren, even Dana's oldest, into helping by making a game of it. Hector offered her ouzo to drink as they settled in the drawing room and she politely refused. She had encountered the licorice like drink in her travels and would have spewed it before she could have swallowed it. Dave offered her water as he poured himself some wine but she chose the wine instead.

As their conversation started to die down, Dave's mother asked where Orianne was staying for the night. "The Hilton," she and Dave responded at the same time, trying to hide the awkwardness of their response.

"You simply have to stay here tonight," Hea stated. "There's no sense in staying by yourself in a hotel room when you can stay in our guest bedroom. I've already made it up today, so you can't argue."

"Thank you, ma'am," Orianne replied with a gracious nod. She had to control herself from sending Dave an apologetic look because they didn't have plans to sleep at all. His entire new townhouse, the one she had picked out a month ago, needed christening by the two of them. The furniture, still covered in plastic, had been moved in but there was still some painting left to do along with the interior decorating, which couldn't be done until the paint was dry. He expected to be moved in by the end of next week, just in time for his family to celebrate Christmas at his new place. "I'll have to go pick my things up from the hotel though," she lied. Her luggage was sitting in the bedroom of his current apartment.

"We wanted to meet up with some of my friends tonight." The lie rolled smoothly off Dave's tongue. "So, I'll have her back late. We'll try not to wake you up."

"Of course, dear," she replied, the smaller woman patting her son on the arm. She was a couple inches shorter than Orianne but much slimmer. Her black hair was only beginning to gray, making her look younger than what she was. "You two kids have fun," she added with a wink and then embraced her husband as they started for the stairs to the bedroom. It was obvious that the Batistas were still very much in love. The two were the most absolute cutest older couple she had seen. It was obvious where Dave got his looks. His father was tall and broad as well, his eyes and hair just as dark.

Dave and Orianne started laughing like hyenas the second they were in his car and couldn't quit until they had arrived at his townhouse, directly from his parents. Finally catching their breath after climbing the small stoop, they could actually carry on a conversation. "I can't believe I lied to my mother like that," he said.

"Oh, please, like you never lied to her before."

"Then it was me just being a kid," he replied, opening the front door.

"Before this is over, we'll have lying down to an art," she responded, following him in. Dave dropped his keys on to the plastic coated table by the door and shrugged out of his overcoat. "So," Orianne said, tossing her own coat aside with her scarf and gloves, "where shall we start? I've never done it in the kitchen."

"Don't get me started laughing again," Dave replied, smirking at her mischievous grin.

"Well," she huffed in mock anger and whipped the plastic off of a wine colored sofa in the living room. "Take me then, big boy," she dramatically ordered, faking a swoon across the back of the couch.

"If you won't stop, then I'll have to make you," he replied with a chuckle at her antics, easily closing the distance between them in long strides.

Orianne immediately straightened up from where she lay. "And how to do plan on doing that?" she asked, tracing a teasing finger down his cheek and then his chest.

"Quite easily," he replied, cupping the back of her head and pulling her to him to cover her lips with his, tasting the red wine from earlier.

* * *

Dave and Orianne had become so involved in themselves they barely made it out of the living room, into the foyer, and then into the dining room before they realized that it was getting dangerously late to continue their lie if he didn't take her back to his parents' home for the night. The next morning, Orianne woke to the delicious smells of coffee. She hurriedly dressed and came downstairs to find Hea in the kitchen pouring herself a mug. "Would you like one, dear?" she asked and Orianne nodded. "Did you two have fun?"

"Yes. My circle of friends extends to work only, so it was nice to go out with other people for a change," Orianne politely answered.

"I have to make a market run and then go into the restaurant. I apologize that I didn't make any breakfast. I thought you might like to sleep in since you were out late. When is Dave coming?"

"He said to call whenever I got up."

"What are your plans for today?" Batista's mother inquired, sipping her coffee.

"He's going to show me around, maybe take me up to Capitol Hill, but we have to leave this evening for a houseshow in New Jersey tomorrow." The lies were coming so fast and easy. She couldn't believe she had made all that up on the spot. Her lips were moving but she didn't know what was coming out until it was over.

"Can you have dinner again with us tonight?"

"I think that can be managed."

"Dave talks so much about you," Hea good-naturedly smiled. "It's good to finally meet you."

Orianne blushed. "I can say the same about you. He loves his family."

"Yes, well, we love him too and try to take care of him as much as possible. It's a shame he wouldn't let us in when Gabrielle broke off their relationship. It was almost worst than with his ex-wife." Orianne froze at the woman's words and then nodded as if she understood entirely. "I hope he never has to go through that kind of heartbreak again," she pointedly stated, her eyes focused on the younger woman.

Somehow, Orianne felt that this was directed at her, like Hea felt that she was stringing Dave along. Was his mother trying to put some kind of doubt in her mind by mentioning an ex-wife? What ex-wife? The photographer had no idea how to respond and nodded in agreement before taking another sip of her coffee.

"It was nice talking with you, dear. I have to run. Please, make yourself at home while you're here."

"Thank you, ma'am," she replied and watched Dave's mother rinse out her coffee cup and head out the backdoor of the kitchen. She let out of huge sigh of relief when she heard the woman's car start. Dave didn't have to know one word of that conversation, she thought as she dialed his cellphone number. If he wanted her to know about an ex-wife, he would tell her. Was that the reason for his fear of total commitment, his wariness in marriage? Had she done him worse than Gabrielle? It was none of her business. It wasn't like they were seriously dating. Yet, she heard his words echo in her head—_Do you trust me? _Did Dave not trust _her_? That was a bit unfairly skewed for him to demand that of her and then not extend that same trust. She had to put this aside because, in the long run, it mattered not.

TBC…


	20. Headed Straight for Another Heartbreak

_**Chapter XX: Headed Straight for Another Heartbreak**_

The townhouse was being worked on during the day, so Dave and Orianne spent a long but satisfying day at his apartment before returning to his parents' home for dinner. This time, only Dana and his parents were present. Conversation turned to business when Dana mentioned an issue with one of the restaurants and Orianne was grateful that she didn't have to force herself to join in. When Hector realized they had left her out, he asked how she had enjoyed her tour and Orianne began rattling off her impression of the monuments, albeit from a memory from a few years ago. However, it was late in the meal and she had to make little of it up.

As Hea began clearing the dishes, Dana joined her while the other three retired to the drawing room again. After a few minutes, Dave's mother told him that if he wanted some leftover dessert to take home, he needed to come get it. He left Hector and Orianne to the conversation they had started about how the military system worked in Greece, where every male had to serve for at least two years.

When he pushed past the swinging doors into the kitchen, he knew leftover dessert has been a ruse as Dana and his mother stared him down. "David, we need to talk," Hea began. He knew he was in trouble when she used his given name. "Does she have any intention of leaving her husband for you?"

"What?" he sputtered.

"You are obviously in love with her," Dana broke in. "It's in the way you watch her and the way you think you innocently touch her. Does she even know that you love her?"

"The two of you have been reading too many romance novels," Batista replied, shaking his head.

"I know she was the woman you had at the hospital with you," his sister pointedly stated.

"You don't know her. You can't know that."

"Callie described her to me. Orianne _was _the woman glued to your side that night," Dana accused.

"When have you been talking to Callie?" Dave demanded, referring to Gabrielle's older sister.

"About two days after the baby was born, she came into the restaurant looking to deride you in front of family and, well, Orianne was a topic of that derision."

"That's why you were needling me at Thanksgiving, trying to make me admit there was someone in my life."

"Listen to me, David," his mother interrupted. "I think she has feelings for you. From what Callie said, I'm sure she does. But if she hasn't told you that or she has no intention of leaving her husband, you need to get away from her fast. You are headed straight for another heartbreak. Does she know about your ex-wife?" He shook his head at the two of them.

"We women see these things," Dana said. "Leave her alone as soon as possible."

"This is my business, what happened twenty years ago _and_ what's going on now," Dave seethed. "Don't either of you say a word about this conversation with Orianne. We're leaving now."

Hea pushed the foil wrapped plate of cake into his hands before he turned to go. "Yes, this is your business, son, but we have to deal with the fall-out," she quietly said as he walked away. He paused at her words but then pushed on through the double doors to collect Orianne.

They intentionally returned to the new townhouse but Dave seemed to be a million miles away. "What's wrong?" she whispered, tracing her fingertips down his temple and jaw.

"I'm just tired. You wear me out, woman."

She couldn't help but giggle and then unbuckled his belt. "Then let me do all the work," she replied, shoving him down on the freshly made king-sized bed and straddling him. Sloan had always been in control when they had sex, not that she had complained since she was so inexperienced and afraid she'd do things wrong. She and Dave had experimented in ways she never thought possible and she was ready to tackle her fear.

The wrestler easily flipped her over and pinned her underneath him. "You know I worry about your hip and your leg. I'll take over from here," he said, blowing in her ear and making her shudder.

"Dave," she started but he kissed her. She pushed him away and continued. "We've been together for over two months. I am quite competent enough to 'steer'."

"I didn't say that. I just can't imagine what that would do to your knee and ankle, all bent underneath you," he replied, propping himself up on his elbow.

"If I can ride a horse, I can do this."

"I want our time together to be about you," he softly countered, running a hand lightly down her cheek. "Now, quit arguing and enjoy or I'll tie you up again."

"That _was_ quite nice," she breathlessly replied as his lips blazed a trail across her jaw and down her throat where his tongue dipped in the hollow of her throat.

"I know exactly where you left your scarf," he murmured against her neck.

"Dave, can I ask you something?" Orianne suddenly asked.

"Yeah," was his muffled reply into her hair as his hands slid underneath her back to undo her bra.

"Do you trust me?"

Batista stopped, his fingers on the hook of her lingerie. "What?" he asked, propping himself up, one arm on either side of her.

"Do you trust me?" she softly repeated as his eyes bored into hers.

"Did my mother say something to you?"

Orianne glanced away but could still feel his intense gaze. "Yeah," she finally admitted.

"About my ex-wife?" The woman nodded and he pulled her up with him, situating her on his lap with her legs wrapped around his waist. There were a few particular reasons right now for why he didn't want to talk about this. He was angry at his mother for saying anything to make Orianne doubt him. He was disappointed in _himself_ for making her doubt him. He was also upset with himself for not extending the same courtesy to her after asking for her trust. Once again, he felt as if she would reject him or think less of him for his past actions and for not telling her the entire truth of why he had such reservations of marrying again. "Why does it always seem that stories like this start off with 'I was young and stupid'?"

When he finished telling her, she shook her head and replied, "I'm sorry for saying anything."

"Don't apologize, I owe you the same trust. I'm sorry my mom opened her big mouth."

"Do you realize that if that hadn't happened to you, we probably wouldn't have met?" Orianne said, echoing Dave's own words to her about Randy Orton and her accident almost seventeen years ago. "We might not be enjoying each other right this moment?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to meet her lips. "Let's get back to what we were doing when my insecurity rudely interrupted."

Dave inwardly sighed with relief and proceeded to acquiesce to her wish, one hand sweeping her hair over her shoulder and the other snaking up her soon to be naked back.

* * *

Orianne and Dave said 'goodbye' the next Tuesday before they left the hotel for their respective flights to return home for Christmas. She made a stop in Stamford before loading her car with her presents for her family and making the long drive back to Prescott, Alabama. Her brother met her at the car with a hug and helped her carry in the gifts, along with a warning—their father wanted to talk to her. 

"How's it going, baby girl?" he asked around a piece of straw as she sidled up beside him while he watched one of Orrin's newest acquisitions, a young Mustang, being put through paces in the corral.

"Good. Orrin said you needed to talk to me."

"I wanted you to know that I talked with Livi and it's only fair I say something to you as well. I don't want the two of you bickering while you're home. For the sake of Christmas and your mother, put up with the two of each other during the holiday."

Orianne could only blink at him. She was disappointed in herself, that, at almost the age of thirty, her father was treating her like a little child. "Daddy, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I promise I won't start—" He interrupted her with the clearing of his throat. "—or finish anything with her while I'm home."

"Thank you," he replied, patting her gently on the back.

"Are you going back in soon? It's getting cold."

"I'll be a few more minutes."

Starting a fight with Olivia would have been easy but finishing one would have been extremely difficult. Her younger sister didn't even speak to her unless necessary. After dinner, Orianne adamantly sent their mother away, insisting that she and Olivia could handle the dishes. The petite, black-haired girl was furious, keeping her lips tight until her older sister cornered her in the kitchen.

"Daddy said no fighting," Olivia quickly blurted out but Orianne didn't back down.

"I'm not trying to fight with you but I don't think Dad would appreciate the silent treatment as well. I won't say a word about Randy if you'll just act like you like me for the next couple of days." A wide-eyed Olivia nodded and skirted her big sister to continue carrying the dishes from the dining room to kitchen.

Orianne was able to finally break away from her family and slowly dragged her rolling suitcase up the steps of the guesthouse—Randy was not visiting during the holiday, thank god. She managed to get the piece of luggage up on the vanity and then opened it. A shower was in order first, she thought and then picked through the clothing for her pajamas. Her fingers lit on a familiar red shirt and she smiled. Dave had sneaked his red dress shirt into her luggage when she joked that it was the sexiest color she had seen on him. Actually, it was the worst…which wasn't saying much because everything looked good on him, just some colors more than others. Instead of unpacking it, the woman left it in her suitcase and repacked for this trip. She decided that she would lie around the rest of the evening in the shirt, reveling in the smell of his cologne and knowing he had worn it. She picked it up and shook it out and, to her surprise, a package fell out of it. A small box wrapped in red and green paper and sporting holly leaves lay on its side in her floor.

With a wide grin, she picked it up and read her name on the top of it. She ripped the ribbon off and tore into the package to reveal a jewelry box. Closing her eyes, she opened it and then finally looked. Inside was two carat ruby in the shape of a teardrop and attached to a thin silver chain. She gasped, quickly shut the box, and put it down on her dresser before pacing back and forth a couple of times. Finally, she walked back over and picked it back up. Opening it again, she traced a finger along the chain and then gently touched the pendant. Without taking her eyes off the necklace, the woman fumbled in her purse for her cellphone and pressed the speed dial for Dave Batista.

"David," she reprimanded, "you are in serious trouble."

"I thought you'd never find it," he replied and she could tell he was grinning from ear to ear.

"But we said we weren't going to do presents. I don't have anything for you."

"That's the point."

"But…" she began.

"No 'buts'," he interrupted. "If you get me anything, I'll have to take the necklace back."

"It's beautiful. It must have cost a fortune," Orianne breathed, fingering the pendant.

"Don't worry about that."

"Yeah, now I have to worry about how to explain to my husband why I have a ruby necklace when he gets home. Besides, only men give their mistresses jewelry."

Dave laughed at her response. "You'll come up with something." When Orianne didn't reply—she was still in awe as the precious gem sparkled in her hands—Dave added, "You are absolutely stunning in red, you know that?"

She turned pink to the roots of hair. "And you aren't," she facetiously replied to avoid the awkward moment. Even though they had been intimate in ways that she had never been with her husband, Dave could stop her with just words.

"Merry Christmas, Ori."

"Merry Christmas, Dave. I'll see you Monday night."

"Can't wait," he suggestively replied before hanging up.

* * *

True to their promises, neither Orianne nor Olivia had words during their stay at home. However, that didn't stop their argument come Monday night after RAW. The photographer got wind of her little sister's presence at the show through Cara, who chided Orianne for not telling her Olivia was visiting. As soon as the event was over, Orianne made a beeline to the backstage. This was getting ridiculous. She didn't need to be traveling all over the U.S. to be Randy Orton's whore. If they wanted to date, he wasn't going to parade her around the WWE so they could make fun of her. Cara hadn't found out yet but, when she did, there would be hell to pay. If she couldn't persuade Olivia to dump him, maybe she could persuade the girl to stay away from RAW. 

Orianne caught her sister coming out of the women's lockerroom and she pulled her back in as the two other remaining divas made their exit. The photographer could smell the fresh spritz of perfume on Olivia and the reapplication of pink lip gloss was obvious. "I don't want to hear it," the younger woman petulantly stated, crossing her arms over her low cut, tight-fitting sweater, a blouse that was uncharacteristic for her.

"Olivia, I beg you, if you won't break it off, please don't come to RAW. When he dumps you, people are going to talk about you. If you stay away, they won't know you."

"Why? So _you _won't be embarrassed? Leave me alone," Olivia spat and headed for the door. Orianne reached out for her for one last plea but her hand caught her sister's purse instead. Olivia jerked on it hard but the contents of the bag spilled everywhere, leaving evidence of her plans for the evening on the floor—a box of condoms.

"Livi, please, listen to me," Orianne began as the other girl began hastily scraping up her things. "Randy Orton drugged me and almost raped me."

Olivia jerked up from where she was bent over, her mouth hanging open. "What?"

Inside, Orianne was waging a battle between telling the truth of what happened or continuing with the embellishment. In that one moment, she had already decided to tell her about the incident but it all came out wrong. Dave had explained Orton's side of the story to her but, had he not, what she had just said would have been her impression. Instead of correcting herself, she let the sentence hang in the air and then she explained what had happened from her point of view.

"You lie," her little sister accused.

"Don't forget I have a witness. Would you like me to call Shaun now? Randy also confessed to Dave."

"No," Olivia said, shaking her head and backing away from her older sister. "No, that couldn't have happened. Just leave me alone." She whipped around, her long, carefully curled hair whirling out like a fan.

Orianne put a hand to her mouth and sat down hard on the bench. Shaking her head, she said a silent prayer for her sister and left the issue there, refusing to take it with her. If that story didn't change Olivia's mind, nothing would and she didn't need the extra burden when there was nothing she could do. Finally, the photographer rose from her seat and gathered her belongings to head back for the hotel to wait for Dave. She had a surprise for him that involved only her dressed in a ruby necklace.

Steps outside the lockerroom door, Orianne was grabbed from behind by the arm and whipped around. "Was that Olivia leaving with Randy?" Cara hissed, her face growing red. She had heard that Orton was seen with a cute, little black-haired girl and that she was the sister of someone on staff. It had hardly mattered at the time because Randy dated everybody. When Orianne nodded, Cara practically shouted, "How could you let her?"

"I've talked to her. I've said everything that I know and she won't listen."

"She'll listen to _me_," the blonde adamantly stated, turning on her heel.

"Please, don't," Orianne begged, stopping the other woman. "She's so mad at me she'd think I sent you to gripe at her."

"He's gonna hurt her," Cara warned.

"I know. I've told her over and over," the dark-haired woman replied with a shrug and waved at Quinn across the parking lot to let him know that she was coming.

"The next time I see her, I'll take her out for coffee and tell her my story…if he hasn't broken heart by then," she muttered the last under her breath. "Is that alright?"

"Yeah, maybe she'll listen to you once she calms down," Orianne replied, heading for the car waiting on her. Maybe Olivia would be able to resist Randy's charms just one more week.

* * *

Orianne didn't hear from her sister for the rest of the week. She didn't concern herself with Olivia either as she had only a month and a half left with Batista. Every Saturday and Sunday, they had met after lunch to partake of whatever the city had to offer if the show wasn't too early, attended the poker games, and then sneaked off to her room for an evening of decadence. They were like teenagers who had just discovered sex. Mondays were too busy but, after RAW, depending on whether there was another poker game when they were on the West coast, they once again sequestered themselves in her room. The week after the two sisters had their last confrontation, the couple was lying in each other's arms, completely satiated. 

"I like this," Dave said, touching a fingertip to the ruby necklace that centered her chest.

"I would hope so since you bought it," she replied with a snicker.

"I mean that I like _only _this on you. I thought I was going to go insane seeing you in only that last week."

"I always liked that scene in _Titanic_ where he draws her wearing only a necklace."

Dave laughed against her, his chest vibrating against hers and sending tingles throughout her body. "Would you like to make love in an antique car as well?"

"Forget the car. You can have me right here," she replied, sliding a hand down his tight stomach. She was surprised to find him already hardening under her touch and started to make a sarcastic comment but a loud knock startled the two of them. "Um, um," Orianne began, turning in circles and looking for her clothes. Dave threw her jeans and his white undershirt at her and then scooped up his dress pants and button-up shirt.

"Answer the door," he hissed as the knocking grew louder and he hurried towards the bathroom.

Orianne ran a hand over her hair, checked the zipper of her jeans, and then pulled the door open. "Olivia?"

Her younger sister stood in the hallway sobbing, her hair disheveled and her face a deep shade of red. "He…he…" She hiccupped between sobs.

"Come in, honey," Orianne cooed, pulling her in and glancing outside to see the corridor deserted. She was about to have a coronary because Randy Orton was about to be emasculated at her own hands. "What is it?" she soothed, setting the girl on the bed and then smoothing her hair out of her face.

She sniffed hard and managed to stop crying long enough to get out, "He broke up with me because I wouldn't put out." Then the sobbing began again.

"Oh, honey," she replied, sitting down beside her sister and rocking her gently. "Let's get you some air. Come on out on the balcony while I get you some water."

"It's…o-okay if…if Dave's here."

Orianne stopped stock-still and then finally caught herself. "What?" she asked, handing Olivia some tissues.

The girl blew her nose and finally caught her breath. "I know you two are good friends and you don't have to hide from me. I understand." She chuckled a moment and then added, "Some guy backstage said that y'all were related. How stupid? I figured y'all were such good friends that people just assumed you were somehow related. Randy even said so but I liked him so much I didn't dare tell him he was wrong."

"How interesting," Orianne replied, letting out an inward sigh of relief.

"I wanted to tell you sooner but we haven't exactly…been…talking," her younger sister said, trailing off as if she was about to cry again.

"It's okay," she replied and then laughed to herself as she heard the toilet flush before Dave emerged from the bathroom.

"Thanks for letting me use your bathroom. You're out of toilet paper. Oh, Olivia, you're here. You okay?"

"She knows you're hiding. It's okay," his lover whispered in his ear and he blushed deeply, even the two women could see the red creeping towards his ears.

"I should probably leave," he stated.

"You can stay," Olivia meekly said and then began crying again. "I-I'll…I'll le-eave."

Orianne pushed her back down when she tried to stand up and turned to Dave with the most apologetic look she could muster. She walked him to the door and whispered, "I'm sorry. I really need to take care of her. Randy broke up with her because she wouldn't have sex with him."

"Good for her. Serves him right."

"Yeah, well, now she's devastated," Orianne replied in a huff.

"Better than catching something from him."

"That's what I've got to convince her of. We'll talk this week and I'll definitely see you on Friday." With a partition hiding them from Olivia, she rose on her tiptoes and quickly kissed him. As he left, she pinched him on the butt and he grinned at her.

"You'll pay for that," he mouthed.

Orianne shut the door behind him and hurried back to Olivia, who was calmer and back to sniffling. "You'll stay with me tonight," her big sister said and then hugged her close. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No," she sobbed but then changed her mind. "Yes. He used me to get back at you! He told me that when I wouldn't sleep with him. He said you lied about what happened and unfairly accused him. I've been thinking about what you said and I just thought you were jealous but then I couldn't figure it all out, so I called his bluff. I told him that I talked to Dave and Shaun. He just yelled at me to get out. Now that it's over, you wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

"No, Livi, I wouldn't. It really did happen…sort of." Her sister's eyes grew wide but Orianne quickly put a hand out to her before recounting what Randy had explained to Dave. She then waited for her sibling to yell at her about lying and storm out.

"I'm so sorry," Olivia whispered and began crying again.

Orianne's heart was hurting for her baby sister but she couldn't help but be elated that this situation was over. Not only was Randy Orton out of Olivia's life, she didn't have sex with him either. The photographer couldn't wait to call Cara to let her know everything would be alright now.

* * *

When the door slammed behind her, Randy Orton picked up his tennis shoe and threw it at the same space the young woman had just occupied. He was pissed at Orianne Thomas-Anderson, her sister, and himself. The wrestler picked up his phone and automatically began to dial Dave Batista's number. They weren't as close as they had been since the incident with Orianne but it seemed Dave always had an answer for his problems. However, he immediately cut the call off before it could go through as he quickly remembered the last time he had called the man over a woman—it had earned him several punches. No, thanks. 

He knew he should never have danced with Olivia Thomas in the first place the night he met her in Birmingham. He had pegged her for Orianne's little sister the instant he saw her and his first thought was use her and then kick her to the curb. It would be so sweet to see the look on the photographer's face when the girl went crying to her about it.

Olivia was all things Orianne was not. She was sweet, soft-spoken, sexy, coy, and she adored him. But she had that same silken black hair and he melted like butter the second he got his hands in it. When she invited him home for Thanksgiving, he jumped at the chance. First, he could flaunt it in her sister's face and, second, he had nowhere else to go for the holiday. He and his parents weren't exactly seeing eye to eye at the moment.

Despite Olivia's hero worship of him, he had discerned quickly that she wouldn't be so easy to get into bed. She was what he called a 'good girl.' Her kind were the ones that desperately wanted to be with him but were reluctantly because of their morals and upbringing. It would take a little wooing, a little wining and dining and then he'd have her. He had decided that tonight was it. A romantic dinner, a moonlit walk, and then his hotel room but somewhere it went all wrong. She was so pliant under his hands but then she stopped and surprisingly asked him about the incident with Orianne.

Randy should have known that her sister would have told her about it but, since Olivia never brought it up, he hadn't worried about it. Yet, he was ready. He explained it all in detail, the same way he had told Dave…with a little bit of glossing over of a few things. Orianne had lied and she unfairly accused him without finding out the truth. Olivia seemed to accept this explanation and he drew her in close, tangling his hands in her hair and kissing her until her knees gave out beneath her. She then muttered his name and he pulled away to look in her eyes but that was when she asked why Batista and Shaun Allen had said otherwise. "I can't be with you if that's true," the dark-haired woman had whispered.

Suddenly, Olivia's silken hair was Orianne's and all he could see were the same features that the two women shared. He couldn't do this; it wasn't worth it. Instead of thinking clearly and letting the woman down easy, he took one last stab at Orianne for ruining this as well his friendship with Dave. He regretted his words now but it was all over with. What was Orianne going to do, attack him for breaking up with her sister? If anything, she would be elated. Now, he had to decide what to tell Dave in case the man felt like his familial responsibilities extended to Olivia Thomas.

TBC…

**

* * *

Author's Notes:** To Rae, I wanted to redeem Randy in this moment and I tried but, dammit, he wouldn't cooperate. Don't hate me too much, okay? 

Btw, if y'all are still reading these author's notes, you need to read Rae's stories **(Queen of Kaos, user id: 802246)**. If you like Stillshot, you'll love her story _The Scarlet Letter. _It is a must read. All of her work is awesome, and she actually likes Randy Orton. ;) Read her Randy stories too! What the heck, read all of her stories. Trust me, it's worth it.


	21. For the Last Time

**Author's Notes: **I went ahead and changed the rating of this to M. I hope that isn't a problem with anyone.

**_Chapter XXI: For the Last Time_**

With less than a month and a half left, a sense of urgency had hit the lovers. Dave couldn't care less if Randy Orton hadn't said a word to him about his love life and Orianne didn't bother with her mother's questions of where she and Sloan would reside when he returned home. She wasn't even bothering with making the usual preparations for his return at this time. The lovers' schedule hadn't changed on the surface. How the time was spent was the difference. They went nowhere that required them to act as kin in public. Much of their time was spent in the hotel room in different states of undress. Sex wasn't necessarily their sole activity but things always led there. Orianne was finding new ways to lie as she now traveled between venues with Dave and rode to and from the arena with him. With his birthday coming up, no one would notice her absence for just the week before and the couple of weeks afterward.

While they refused to speak out loud of their remaining days, each kept a countdown privately. The weekend before Dave's birthday marked three and a half weeks. Sunday night, an off-night, Orianne planned her own celebration for him. Generally, wrestlers' birthdays that ended in zero were celebrated backstage on the evening of RAW and Batista was hitting the big 4-0. She would be lucky to see him that night.

They were in Chattanooga, a city that Orianne knew well and no one knew her. She had managed to snag a private dining room at a small upscale restaurant weeks earlier. Afterward, she sent Dave back to his room with a coy smile and the order to come to her room in twenty minutes.

Batista did as she asked, even though it was the longest twenty minutes in his life. She opened the door to him and he wrinkled his forehead in confusion at her appearance. She was dressed in a matronly black dress with her hair pulled back in a bun. He chuckled and asked what in the world she was thinking.

Leading him in with small steps, she replied, "Aren't we in mourning? The whole over the hill thing?"

"I thought that was fifty," he replied, glancing around the room that was dimly lit by black taper candles. This was a first—making love by candlelight.

"I won't get to do this when you're fifty. Everybody turned out in black for Slo—" she stopped. They weren't even saying his name anymore, reminding them of how final their time was together. "Another person I know had a fortieth birthday party and it was done in all black. I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

Dave laughed and reached for her, picking at her high-collared dress. "And what is this?"

"I thought you might enjoy unwrapping it," she replied with downcast eyes. He laughed low in his throat and began turning her around until he found the tie at the waist. She literally meant he was to unwrap her. He slowly undid the bow and peeled back one side of her dress and then found the tie inside to push the other side back and reveal her red bra and lacy boyshorts. She had listened to him when he had said he found those panties the sexiest. He growled low in his throat and pushed the rest of the dress off her shoulders before finding the pin that held her hair up. He carefully laid her on the bed and realized the reason for her dainty steps—strappy black stilettos. Running light fingertips over her red toenails, he kissed her tattoo and then said, "Can we leave the heels on?"

"Anything you want," she replied, delighted that he found them so sexy.

Dave trailed kisses up her leg to the panties and then spotted the silver bracelet that she had fastened to the side of them. "What's this?"

"Take it off and see," she answered, wiggling her hips.

He found the clasp and slipped it off. On the plate on the thick bracelet, his initials were engraved along with the silhouette of a quarter moon in the lower left hand corner and a rising sun in the upper right hand corner. "Ori, you shouldn't have. I said no presents."

"It's payback for Christmas," she replied, clambering up to sit beside him. "Plus, I want you to have something to remember me by."

"I could never forget you."

"Now you don't have to worry about it. Turn it over," she excitedly told him. On the back, a quote by Pascal was engraved: "The heart has its reasons which reason does not know at all." The date of his birthday and the year was underneath it, along with her initials, OIT. "I snooped in your jewelry box and thought you needed a silver one to go with your gold one. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," he whispered, turning the bracelet over in his hand several times. He wore a gold bracelet, an heirloom of his paternal grandmother's family. She was once part of a rich family but they disowned her when she ran away and married his grandfather. Through all that time, she carried the gold bracelet that once belonged to his great-great grandfather. As the oldest grandson, he had inherited it and wore it depending on his outfit. _God damn, I am a metrosexual, _he thought and unclasped the gold bracelet to replace it with the silver one for her.

"So, if I can only wear the ruby, you can only wear that," she said, running a hand inside his shirt that had several buttons already undone.

He turned to her and cupped her cheeks with his large hands. "What am I going to do without you?"

"Find a woman who'll treat you like you deserve," she replied, placing her hands on his wrists. He pulled her face to him and brushed his lips against hers.

Orianne ran her hands up his chest, around his neck, and then back down to his shirt that he was unbuttoning. She helped him out of it before he divested himself of the rest of his clothing. He pushed her down on the bed, clad only in the bra, panties, and heels. "I just want to look at you," he whispered and her cheeks grew pink. "A vixen that still knows how to blush."

"Get down here," she said and held her arms out to him. "It's my turn," she added as he lay down beside her. Her hands roamed over the hard planes of his chest and stomach as she gently teased a nipple with her teeth. He slightly jerked under her and she treated the other the same before kissing them. She draped her hair across his chest and let the silken tresses trail down his body as her hot mouth blazed a path down to his thighs. She couldn't resist gently biting them before taking his manhood in her mouth. She glanced up to see his eyes tightly shut, his jaw clenched, and his fists full of the blanket. The woman continued her ministrations until he was trembling underneath her. She pulled away and quickly straddled him before he could stop her.

He moaned her name loudly as she sank down on him and he opened almond colored eyes clouded with desire. She wiggled from side to side and he groaned before sitting up and rolling her over. She would have let out a disappointed sigh but her mind was no longer working as he began thrusting against her body. Her heels were digging into his back but he didn't care. Knowing how sexy she looked with them on spurred the frenzy as he pumped harder, her hips rising to meet his. She had already driven him so far that he climaxed soon but he slid down beside her and, at the same time, his fingers found the apex of her thighs and parted her. She arched against his hand, holding tight to his neck where he leaned across her, his heavy breath sending tiny tendrils of her hair flying. Crying out his name, she collapsed against the bed, gasping for air.

"What," Orianne puffed, "am I…going to do…for exercise…without you?"

"Give me a little bit," he stopped to catch his breath and continued, "and I'll take care of next week's workouts too."

She laughed and then asked, "If I put them on for you again later, can I take the heels off?"

"I guess," he sulked but pushed her back down on the bed when she rose to take them off and handled the tiny clasps himself.

"Come here. Take a nap and I'll hold you to that promise of next week's workouts," she said and they curled around each other, savoring the aftermath of their lovemaking.

* * *

True to Orianne's guess, the backstage sported several cakes for Batista's birthday. After the "shit" meeting, they were all ushered to hospitality and a few embarrassing comments made about the Heavyweight Champion and his age before they descended upon the decorated cakes. After the show, just when Dave thought he was going to be able to spend an evening with Orianne, he was practically kidnapped by several of the guys and whisked away to a strip joint despite his protests. While they were not exclusive, he felt like he was cheating on Orianne. However, it was a nice cover for anybody who might have had their suspicions about the two of them. Between this and his lapse of sanity when he went out with Orton, who was currently present, it should be obvious that he didn't have a thing for Captain Anderson's wife.

Dave submitted to the lap dances, downed a few drinks for show, and laughed along with the guys. Some time in the middle of the night, they returned him to his room but he slipped away when they were gone to knock on Orianne's door. She pulled the door open, her eyes slits against the light in the hallway. She grunted and headed back for the bed. In seconds, he was down to his boxers and slid in beside her. She was already asleep and he was close behind her, only to be woken up a few hours later by her warm hands arousing him in his half-sleep.

That was the way it seemed to be for their last weeks. When they were together, they snatched naps here and there and slept heavy when at home. Despite their desire to spend every waking moment together, Orianne was required to work in the photo lab and Dave couldn't abandon his responsibilities in Washington, DC.

During all this time, Orianne could only think about him. If she wasn't daydreaming about his naked body against hers, she was worrying about breaking it off with him. Not so much for his sake, but for hers. They had been sleeping together for four months. Four nights out of the week, he was in her bed. How exactly was that supposed to end? How exactly was she supposed to go back to her husband after this?

And the thought crept into her mind that they didn't have to end it. They had two options before them. One, they stopped sleeping together before Sloan came home or, two, they continue their affair even after he returned. She immediately put the second option out of her head. Despite what her body was saying, her mind was the rationalizing factor and reminded her that she said almost six months ago that she would give everything up to return to her first year of marriage with Sloan. She wanted her husband back, she wanted the man back that she married. Had she _not_ been married and with the way Sloan was treating her, she could probably easily tell Sloan to kiss her ass and run off into the sunset with Dave Batista. But that all came back to the fact that Dave had never expressed any permanent intentions towards her. That was part of their deal though. No strings attached, he had said. That meant that he didn't want her after Sloan came back. It was all for the better and the charade would be over.

They agreed that not one word would ever be said about their affair. After the second RAW in February, they would no longer have any private contact. If either of them wanted to continue playing poker, then neither would object. They were adults and could still be in the same room. When he asked her what she would do now about seeing the cities they visited, she waved him off. She would have been in the company for over ten months by then and they would be hitting the same venues again soon. She'd find something else to occupy her time. The truth was that she didn't want to do those things without him. She probably could spend more time with Cara, if the blonde could be pulled away from Cedarius. Maybe she would just quit working for the WWE. Baseball season would be starting soon. Maybe Alabama's Montgomery Biscuits could use a photographer. Orianne tried to not to be depressed when she was alone as she counted down the days for Sloan's return.

Dave himself was combating depression as well. He had neglected his exercise routine over the past month and now he tried to make up what he could during the week when he and Orianne were apart and to help keep their impending separation off his mind. He was putting an extra strain on his body but it would be over soon and he could resume his normal schedule. He wondered over and over again if she wanted to stay with him, to either continue the affair or to leave Sloan altogether. In the beginning, she had talked constantly about setting her marriage right but that had changed with the past few months. What if she would rather be with him instead of her husband? No, if she did, she wouldn't be preparing for his return. They wouldn't have agreed to terms for after his arrival. She was another man's woman and he had to admit that.

The couple had bought their last weekend for themselves with lies to the poker group. They left the hotel room only to travel to the next venue, three cities in four days. On their final night, RAW was luckily in L.A. and would be starting three hours earlier than normal. They were both out of there in a heartbeat when the lights went up.

At first, Dave and Orianne came together, hot, fast, and heavy. A few buttons would need to be sewn back on for the both of them. But then their love-making turned tender as they savored the feel of each other's body, the air thick with their longing. His touch was feather light, making the caresses agonizingly sweet.

"Please," she whispered, stopping him as he pulled away from lavishing attention on her breasts, "please let me show you how much you've meant to me."

"Be careful," he softly replied, wrapping his arms around her and then rolling her on top of him. Once again, she sank down on him and he filled her deeply. She tightened around him as if to hold on to his being as hard as she could. This was new to her but it was something she had wanted to give back to him and she began to move slowly, rising up and down. Dave lost control of any rational thoughts as he gave into her pace, wrapping his hands around her hips to pull her down harder on him. Right before the white light exploded behind his eyes, he regretted not trusting her with her own body as her knees pressed into his sides and then her weight collapsed upon him. She felt so right lying on top of him that he refused to allow her to move. Eventually, she peeled herself from him and they pulled the sheets up around them, her back against his solid chest and his arms locked tight around her.

His breath became slow and even and Orianne wondered if he slept, sometimes she could never tell, even if she herself couldn't drift off. The tears slowly leaked out from the corners of her eyes, no matter how tight she squeezed them shut, and she quickly wiped them away.

Life was hundreds of thousands, millions even, of interconnecting events. Those events happen only once in a lifetime; no matter how repetitive they seem, they are never exactly the same. Her entire life was built around capturing as many of those events as possible on film, an imprint of that happenstance. If a photographer was good enough, they could capture the emotions as well. If Orianne could make this moment stand still, the feelings, the atmosphere, all of it, she would capture the still shot and tuck it away for her private viewing to remind her of this period in her life, this interconnecting event that could never be recreated no matter the circumstance.

Tuesday morning, they shared their bodies for the last time. His kiss left her dizzy and he held her close until the world righted itself again. She couldn't let go, he would have to be the one to do it and eventually he did. He touched the ruby pendant around her neck and she clasped his wrist where the bracelet was warm to her touch. No words were spoken as he stepped away and then out the door.

TBC…


	22. Bluffing Relationships

**Author's Notes:** My apologies for taking so long to post this chapter (although you're going to still be pissed at me by the end—keep an open mind). The end of the semester and holiday shopping has been crazy! If you celebrate the holidays, I hope that it's wonderful! Happy holidays! 

_**Chapter XXII: Bluffing Relationships**_

Orianne didn't have the time to collapse like she wanted after Dave shut her hotel door for the last time. She had forty-five minutes to pack and be at the airport and then she had two days to pull her life together before Sloan arrived on Thursday. The photographer went straight from the airport to WWE headquarters to drop off her film. She was given the week off, including the coming weekend, for Sloan's arrival and would process the rolls next week. Yet, Cedarius was already there and working on his. He offered to take care of it for her and she half-heartedly declined before giving in to him.

As she started to haul her luggage up the steps, she ran into Shaun Allen, coming down the steps with a moving box in his arms. "I didn't think you'd be back in time before I left today," he said as she backed up to let him through and then waited until he put the box down.

"You're moving?"

"Yeah, Dave Batista snagged me a Deep South try-out and I signed the contract last week. I haven't had a chance to tell him I got the contract. Will you tell him I said thanks?"

"Of course," she replied, her heart sinking at Dave's name. "It's a shame you're moving today. My husband will be back in two days. He should be debriefing as we speak."

"I'm glad he'll be home safe."

"Yeah," she replied with a nod.

"Here, let me get that," Shaun offered, grabbing the handle of her luggage. She was too tired physically and mentally to argue. He carried her suitcase to her bedroom and then came back where she waited in the livingroom.

"I know you'll do well. Thank you for everything."

"Yeah, the same here. If you weren't friends with Batista, I would never have gotten my contract." Orianne had no idea that Dave had pulled strings for him. He deserved it after taking care of her after the incident with Randy Orton. "I'll never forget our first beer together."

Orianne laughed and then asked, "You got time for that pizza now? My treat."

"Sorry," he replied, laughing as well. "I've got a long drive. I'm meeting some family in North Carolina before heading into Atlanta tomorrow."

"I have contacts in Atlanta. E-mail me," she said, digging in her purse for her business card, "and I'll send you their names."

"Thanks," he replied, stuffing her card in his wallet. "Bye, Orianne."

"Bye, Shaun." She opened the door for him and then leaned up against it after shutting it behind him, staring at her empty apartment. She had a thousand things to do and she forced herself not to give in to the emptiness.

After a trip down to the leasing office to add Sloan's name to the lease and give them permission to let him into the apartment if he lost his key or locked himself out, Orianne inventoried the groceries in her kitchen and made a list of what they would need for when Sloan arrived. She was picking up her keys to leave when her cellphone rang. She flipped it open and headed out of the apartment at the same time. The callerID said it was a blocked number but she answered it anyhow.

"Orianne," a strained voice said.

"Sloan?" She sank down on the steps and blinked, waiting for a response.

"I've got bad news. I'm still in Iraq," he said with a tired sigh.

"What?! You're supposed to be debriefing right now," she practically screamed.

"We got hit with a virus hours before I was supposed to leave. I've been trying to frantically fix it but I'm going to have to stay," he replied with an exasperated tone.

"For how long?"

"I don't know. It fried several computers, along with one of our main systems. I can't say anymore."

"How long?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"Two weeks here, I think. Then I'll come back and debrief. I'll be sitting with you, sipping sweet tea, in three weeks tops."

"I suppose that no matter what I say, there is no alternative."

"It doesn't matter what _I _say, I have to stay and fix this. I designed the system, so no one else knows it like I do. I'll call you as soon as this is all over and you can pick me up at the base. I love you," he said.

"Just come home alive," she replied, not finding the words within her to reply back the same.

Orianne stayed on the steps a few minutes longer, attempting to get a handle on her anger. Once again duty called…and she could have had another three weeks with Dave Batista. The woman hurried back in her apartment and called him, only to be put through to his voicemail. She left a brief message about the situation; had she said anymore, she might have started ranting. Finally her exhaustion got the best of her and she climbed into her bed, falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

Dave was at the gym when Orianne called and he didn't retrieve her message until an hour later. He played it over and over just to listen to her voice as he drove home. He immediately dialed her phone but she didn't answer. The wrestler started to leave a voicemail telling her he'd be on the next flight out to Stamford but stopped himself before he spoke a word. Clapping the phone shut, he ascended the steps of the townhouse, cursing fate that they had lost three weeks together. He hung his keys on the hook by the door before heading to the laundry room to drop off his gymbag. He had to reply back to Orianne and he had no idea what to say. 

Leaving her this morning was one of the hardest things he had done in his life. He was attempting to swallow his feelings. Maybe if he didn't think about her, then he wouldn't hurt as bad as he had with his ex-wife or with Gabrielle. Yet, as he headed back through the house to his kitchen, he could only see Orianne all over the place. They had made love in every room that week. Standing in the hallway, he remembered how he had chased her through it with a cup of cold water after she had dumped a pitcher of ice water on him in the shower earlier while they were at his old apartment. The water fight that ensued left the painters thinking he had a leak somewhere in the house. Bringing her to his new home had been the biggest mistake of his life.

The wrestler began plopping all the necessary ingredients for his shake into the blender when this overwhelming sense of loneliness hit him. He steadied himself on the wooden kitchen island and then pulled back when he realized what they had done there as well. She was everywhere and he instantly knew that he loved her. He had fallen in love with her somewhere in the process, most definitely before his sister and mother had called him out on it. But the realization changed nothing except tighten the bands that constricted his chest. His heart actually physically hurt. He had sworn off women and somehow he ironically managed to fall in love. He knew this day was coming and the 'no strings attached' was for him. He knew he would have to let her go and he thought he had steeled himself against the moment. But, no, he managed to do even worse by falling for her. He tried to tell himself the old adage—it was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. He had had Orianne Thomas for a short time and that was better than never ever having her.

Dave had his answer to her. They couldn't see each other in the next three weeks. It would be even harder to say goodbye than this morning. With shaky hands, he dialed her number and prayed that she wouldn't answer. Her voicemail picked up and he left a quick message, leaving no request for her to call him back.

* * *

The streetlights were casting shadows around the room when Orianne awoke from her nap. For a moment she was left disoriented in the dark but her eyes focused and she reached for a lamp and glanced at the clock. She had been asleep for several hours—Dave could have called. The woman stumbled into the living room to find her cellphone, which was blinking with a message alert. She excitedly flipped it open to see she had three missed calls—two from Dave and one from Orrin—and two messages. One of those _had _to be from Dave. Orrin's was first; he wanted to know if she had heard from Sloan about what time she'd be picking him up on Thursday. She had yet to call her family and tell them the news. 

Orianne closed her eyes and waited anxiously for Dave's message. "Ori," he began and the shivers coursed through her body. "I don't think it's a good idea. If we had only known sooner…" He paused to swallow the lump in his throat but she could only hear silence. "I'm sorry." The message ended and the woman slumped on the couch. It was for the better, she thought. Her heart was nearly torn out when they said goodbye that morning. She couldn't be with him again and manage to give him up one more time.

The photographer was about to spend the loneliest three weeks of her life. Instead of taking the time off, she tracked Jennifer McNay down and explained the situation, who then changed her week off. Plans were already in place for the weekend, so she couldn't book her for the houseshows and RAW without major penalties. Next, she found Cedarius in the photo lab and was relieved to find him still working on his pictures. He apologetically returned her film to her and promised to do them the week Sloan did return.

For the rest of the week and through the weekend, Orianne lived in the lab. She finished developing the pictures and then began sorting all the loose ones that had not been catalogued for future use or needed to be destroyed based on their quality. She hadn't handed out extra photos in months and the photographer then began bundling them and labeling them for dissemination over the next couple of weeks.

Monday night, she chose to watch RAW to keep up with the storylines. In all honesty, she just wanted to see Batista. They were two weeks out from the Royal Rumble pay-per-view and Triple H was hassling McMahon to allow him the use of his rematch clause, despite Kane winning the number one contendership for the Championship belt. Dave didn't share future storylines with her, not because he didn't trust her, but because they had better things to talk about it. That was why she was dumbfounded to see Dave Batista lose the belt to Triple H on national television. He hadn't said one word to her about it. He had been the Heavyweight Champion from the moment she met him until their last day together. Of course, he wouldn't always hold the belt but she didn't expect it to change hands right now. No one had even mentioned it backstage.

Batista had known he would lose the belt for about a month now. The intent was to put it back on Triple H but that couldn't be settled until Hunter's own issues were settled. He had been in the doghouse for some reason with Stephanie and had now apparently done his penance and was being rewarded. Kane's win was just a way to throw the fans off and surprise them with Hunter's win, keeping the second guessers on their toes. Dave didn't say a word of it to Orianne because he didn't even want to think about it—losing his woman and his belt at the same time. He suggested that maybe he should sell an injury and take some time off—just a few weeks. The man knew he would need time to regroup personally and also professionally so that his dominance in WWE wouldn't grow too stale since he had held the belt for almost a year. He had been thinking for some time that he might open his own gym and this vacation off would give him time to get that in the works.

The next Monday he and Kane would face off. The Cerebral Assassin-Big Red Machine match-up wouldn't be for another two weeks. Kane knew in advance he wouldn't be winning that either. During next week's match, Batista would be injured and then Triple H would attack him backstage, exacerbating it and solidifying his disappearance for about a month.

But the hardest part was yet to come, not the match but having to face Orianne during their poker nights. She made him promise that he would keep playing and he made her promise the same. There was no sense in not seeing each other simply because they were not sleeping together anymore. Orianne now considered it a very bad idea as she slowly walked down the hall to Shawn Michaels' room. The door was propped open per usual and she took a deep breath before entering.

"I heard about Sloan," Shawn said right off the bat, meeting her at the door and holding his arms out for a hug. "Sorry. But what—you've got a week, week and half to go before he's back?" She nodded and he replied, "You've made it a year, you know you'll make it that long."

"Yeah," she responded, now looking around to see who was already there. Only Van Dam was missing. "Hi," the woman said, nodding her head at Chioda, Flair, and Batista. Dave briefly met her eyes and then immediately returned to concentrating on counting out chips. Orianne made a point to talk avidly with Ric and Shawn who flanked her. Maybe if she said enough to them, no one would notice the tension between her and Dave. When it was over, she was proud of herself for making it through and she slogged off to her room, trying to remain numb to the situation. Saturday and Sunday passed the same way. She was the last one to the game and Dave had already positioned himself in the group to where she had to sit between two other guys. By Monday, the photographer had the confidence that she could indeed pull this off if she didn't meet his eyes or he didn't say her name. Yet, a kink in the system screwed it all up.

Orianne lost all of her chips first and suddenly the game was down to RVD and Batista. She could tell Dave was betting big to end the game but Rob hadn't caught on. She peeked at RVD's hand—it didn't matter, she had already lost—and there was no reason he wouldn't win it all. Pushing all his chips to the middle of the table, he called and laid three of a kind down. Dave folded his cards and laid them face down. "You've got me."

"You were bluffing?" Rob exclaimed.

"Damn, what did you have?" Ric asked, reaching for the cards but Dave pulled them out his reach.

"It's embarrassing," he replied and set the deck down on them.

"Let's get out of Orianne's room," Shawn stated, standing up. "Let her get her beauty sleep—as if she needs it."

She blushed and began putting the chips together. This week was her turn to keep up with the cards and the chips and bring them next Friday. Shawn, Ric, Mike, and Rob excused themselves and suddenly Orianne and Dave were left alone. Flair had brought the pizza and drinks and it was therefore Dave's turn to clean-up. They had a weird elaborate system that made sense to only the six of them. The both of them wondered how this night ended up as the two of them were left to set the room to rights.

Orianne finished stacking the chips while Dave silently capped the soda bottles and folded up the pizza box. She surreptitiously checked the bottom of the deck to see the hand he folded on. "Dave," the woman exclaimed, "you had a flush. You would have won."

"I know," he quietly replied, his back to her as he stuffed the trash in the leftover grocery bag.

"Why?"

"I'm leaving next week and I didn't want a favor left hanging," he replied with a shrug, not looking at her.

"You didn't want it because it would have been from _me_," she quietly accused but he said nothing. "We promised to be civilized adults. Right now, we're not even speaking to each other."

"I can't. I…" He swallowed hard. He wanted to tell her that he loved her but couldn't make his tongue work. "Orianne, you'll never know what you do to me," he said, gathering the two half-empty soda bottles.

"Please, don't go," she whispered. "One more night."

"I can't. Ori, I can't," he softly replied and turned away.

She didn't care how needy she seemed and grabbed his arm, turning him around. The soda bottles dropped to the floor and he pulled her to him, his mouth devouring hers while they stripped each other's clothing off. He picked her up and dropped her on the bed and started to crawl down with her when a fist banged on her hotel door.

"Orianne! Open up now!" the voice yelled. The woman froze and a look of horrified shock was plastered on her face.

"Who is it?" Dave whispered.

"It's Sloan," she croaked out.

TBC…

**Author's Notes**: I swore off cliffhangers worse or as bad as the paternity of Gabrielle's baby. This can't possibly be as bad as that one, right? There's only two more chapters, so I promise, really and honestly promise this time, no more cliffhangers period.


	23. Til Death Do Us Part

_**Chapter XXIII: 'Til Death Do Us Part**_

"_Who is it?" Dave whispered, his face hovering over Orianne's._

"_It's Sloan," she croaked out._

"Shit," Batista muttered and quickly began gathering up his clothes.

"I know he's in there. Open up now!" Anderson yelled.

"I'm coming," Orianne hollered back, pulling her silk robe on and then opening the door. Her legs were shaking and her heart beating so fast her ears felt like they would explode. "Sloan, you're back! Oh, honey—"

But he rushed past her into the room, his eyes darting around. The bathroom light was off and the door was halfway open. He then rushed to the balcony and looked out but found it empty. "I know, Orianne."

"What are you doing back? I thought you had another week," she cheerfully said, lightly grasping his elbow.

"Is that why you didn't bother to hide?"

"Hide what?"

"The pregnancy test," he answered, holding up the empty box.

A thousand conflicting emotions ran through Dave Batista as he hid behind the shower curtain in the bathtub. If he had shut the door, Sloan would have busted on in. This was the next best thing he could think of and hoped the man wouldn't check in the tub if the door was open. Now the wrestler was trying to process what he had heard—Orianne thought she might be pregnant and it had to be with his child.

Orianne took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She had a doctor's appointment Friday morning for her next birth control injection. The woman was pretty sure she wasn't pregnant but she had taken the test at home so that if—which was a great big if—she _was _pregnant, she wouldn't be blindsided at the gynecologist's. The first time she had taken the test after sleeping with Dave, she had paced back and forth, sick to her stomach, waiting for the results. The second time was only a routine check, as when Sloan was home. She had tossed the box and the indicator in the trash—he wasn't supposed to be home for another week. How had he known? And why was he already back? "How?" she could barely manage.

"I found it in your apartment. Remember you had my name put on the lease? I got everything fixed and reconfigured much sooner than I thought and I was coming home to surprise you. How could you, Orianne?"

"How could I?" she shouted. "You do realize that it was negative?"

"Yeah, I could see that," he sarcastically replied.

"You do realize that I have to have one before I get my injections."

"You think you're fooling me but," he took a step towards her and she backed up, "you have no reason to take one at home when they give you one at the doctor's. You only have to take them at home if you're having sex." He continued to advance on her, hoping to scare an answer out of her, but she backpedaled. She had never seen him like this. The anger literally flashed from his eyes. He had laid hands on her that one time only and, from the look on his face, he might do it again—this time taking it farther. "Who is he?" Sloan shouted and she took one step too far, falling over one of the dinette chairs and crashing to the floor.

Dave had breathed a sigh of relief when Orianne had said she wasn't pregnant but he listened to every word carefully. He was being a coward but he was afraid if he made his presence known, it would be worse for her. When the volume of Sloan's voice was at its loudest so far and then he heard the crash and her cry out in pain, he tore out of the bathroom, caring less he had only managed to get his boxers on. "Don't you touch her again," he roared, drawing back and punching a stunned Sloan, who was trying to help Orianne up.

The man staggered, clapping a hand to his nose where blood was starting to spurt. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer," he said, looking at the blood that covered his fingers and stalking towards the door.

"Are you afraid to fight me now?" Dave shouted as Anderson pulled the door open.

"I don't fight over sluts," he said but Batista followed him into the hall.

Orianne had finally managed to disentangle herself from the chair and mentally stifle the pain in her hip and knee. She was now in the corridor, staring at Dave glaring down her husband, who was giving the invitation a second thought. "Don't," she cried out, situating herself between the two of them.

"Don't," her husband spat at her, "don't follow me. I'll have my things out of your apartment and then I'll get the rest from your parents. And to think that I was willing to give up my career for you." She gasped at his revelation—the words she had longed to hear for years now. "Yeah, I made my decision and my choice was you. Apparently you couldn't wait for an answer and made the choice for me."

"Sloan, please wait." She grabbed his arm but he violently shook her off.

"Of all the people, the man I trusted to protect you," he calmly stated, looking over her head at Dave, and then hurried for the stairs so she wouldn't be able to stop him by waiting on the elevator.

Batista now noticed how many people had come out of their rooms to witness the humiliating scene. Edge and Lita peered sympathetically at them but slipped back into their room. Others started following suit and Dave glared around menacingly at those who didn't get the hint. He took Orianne by the shoulders and led her back inside the room. She stared with hollow eyes and then sat down in the only upright chair in the room. Dave had no idea what to say, so he poured her a cup of water and handed it to her. She took it and held it in her lap, still vacantly staring off. He pulled his t-shirt and track pants back on and laid her clothes out on the bed.

Finally, Orianne took a sip of the water, set the cup down on the table, and announced, "I have to go after him. I have to make it right."

"I think you need to let him cool down. He's already hit you."

"He didn't hit me."

"Then—" Dave began but she interrupted him.

"I fell over the chair." The pain was still there and she began rooting around in her suitcase and found her pain killers. She was going to be sore for days. After taking the pills, she stoically changed back into her clothes.

"Orianne, please, stop. Don't go to him," he pleaded, standing off to the side of the room and watching her every move.

"Why?"

"Just don't."

"I have to. Don't you understand?" she frustratedly responded.

"Don't go because…I love you." Orianne stopped packing and blinked at him. "I love you, Ori. I want you to be with me."

The woman started shaking her head. "I'm—I'm married. I have t-to…" She couldn't believe what she was hearing and even if, she couldn't throw away nine years with Sloan, seven of them as husband and wife. The woman finally found her tongue. "You said no strings attached."

"I know but I couldn't help it. It just happened. Will you stay with me? Do you love me?"

"I-I-" she stuttered. "You said no strings attached," she repeated, her voice breaking. "I have to go. I made a vow before God, a minister, my family, my friends. 'Til death do us part," Orianne rattled off, not looking up as she zipped up her suitcase and slipped her shoes on before slinging her purse across her shoulder.

With her hand on the door, Dave finally moved from where he leaned against the wall and said, "Orianne, tell me what to say. If marriage is that important, do you want me to ask you to marry me? Is that what you're waiting on?" The words came out a bit more sarcastically than he meant but there they were, hanging between them. Her hand hovered above the doorknob and the suitcase fell to the floor.

The woman slowly turned around and swallowed hard, missing the sarcasm. "You wouldn't. You're terrified of marriage."

He had tried to think of something to stop her, to shock her if need be, and, opening his mouth, that was what came out. She was so hung up on her marriage, on being married, and on her vows. Did he mean what he had just said? Maybe he _did _want to marry her one day, maybe it was his subconscious talking, but he had to make her listen to see how stupid she was being about this. She had already broken her vows and, in an essence, Sloan had done so as well. Dave was willing to say anything that would keep her from going back to _him_, even if it meant showing her the irony of this ideal she held.

"You're afraid of commitment," she replied shakily. "You're afraid of giving yourself wholly to someone for fear of the rejection."

He blinked at her as she psychoanalyzed him but then recovered. "Since marriage vows are so damned important to you, then what? You've already broken one of your vows. So tell me, what am I supposed to say to make you believe that I love you and I don't want you to leave, that I don't want you to go back to him and I want you to be mine."

"Dave, you don't want me—as a wife or otherwise. I'll be thirty in two months and I'm as busted up as a wrestler," she replied as he closed the distance between them

"I don't care," he softly said, reaching for her.

"You don't get it," she said, backing away from him and bumping into the door. "I can't go jogging with you every day."

"Every couple needs time apart from each other."

"I can't work out with you in the gym."

"I was a trainer, I know that, but I'll design a program just for you _if _you want."

"I'm not Gabrielle and I could never be. I'm not in your league."

"That is not true," he adamantly replied, pinning her in place by bracing his hands on the door by her shoulders. "You are the classiest, most intelligent woman I have ever met."

"We can't base a relationship off of sex."

"And what exactly did we do when we weren't having sex?" She didn't respond as her feet remained rooted to the spot. She had no more excuses. "We are just alike—you and me—and you know it. Say you love me. I know you do."

"I have to—" Orianne was breathing hard now. She wanted to scream out 'yes' at the top of her lungs. When he said he loved her, she knew in that instant that she too loved him. Her marriage was all but ruined and Dave Batista stood there before her, offering himself to her, offering to replace Sloan and then some. They could travel together, be with one another seven days a week. He would never leave her for months at a time. They were so often of the same mind and that's not counting the mind-blowing sex. If only she had met him first instead… She had been waiting on this one moment from Sloan and this was the decision she and Dave had made, to end it now. She didn't know how to react to Dave's confession, what to do when her husband had finally come home to her. "I made a vow that I have to keep," she replied, her voice wavering, and pushed on out the door, limping down the hall.

"You had to try," Batista said out loud to himself, banging his head against the door. He looked around to see if anything had been left but the room was completely empty except his shoes and the leftover Coke bottles. Empty, that was exactly how he felt, but he wanted Orianne to be happy and if she thought she would find that with her husband, he had to honor that. Yet, he couldn't help but hope that Sloan wouldn't take her back and she would come to her senses. She didn't deny that she loved him. She may not have admitted it but she didn't say 'no' when he asked her. He could see it in her eyes when she considered his proposal. For a second, he honestly thought that she was going to say 'yes,' that she loved him. Her eyes said she wanted to be with him but her words said otherwise. If Sloan refused her, then he could hope she would come to him. However, reality dictated that he couldn't hang his hat on that hope. Right now, he had to take it one day at a time—after his month off.

Unfortunately, that managed to get screwed up as well. Wednesday morning, Dave got a call from Vince McMahon himself—his vacation was off. "Hunter tore a muscle in his back in the gym yesterday," the chairman explained.

"How bad is it?"

"We're in Birmingham right now, waiting to find out. Point is, we'll find a technicality and put the belt back on you next week."

"Why can't you put the belt on Kane or RVD?" Batista asked, not at all wanting to return. "Award it to Flair. That'll go over."

"Dave, don't question me. Just do what I say," Vince order. "Be in Indianapolis for RAW or you might find yourself suspended."

Batista thought of how he could use that much time off from a suspension and considered defying McMahon. Yet, pissy as he could be, the bastard would probably hold it against him. "I'll be there."

* * *

On Monday, Batista was intentionally late for the meeting and found a seat in the back where he could watch Orianne. Even though she was out of his life, he had to know that she was alright. Her wedding ring was still on her finger and she seemed to be no different than usual, huddled down in her green jacket. She looked tired though, her eyes closing for long periods of time, although that could simply be because McMahon was being extremely boring right now.

Dave was the first out the door as he would rather be in the locker room than making smalltalk. As he was unpacking his gear, he felt someone tap him on his shoulder. He stood up and turned around, right into Randy Orton's fist. "You son of a bitch. _You _wanted her for yourself. That's why you told me to leave her alone. Were you sleeping with her when you told me you weren't a homewrecker?" Dave wouldn't dignify the tirade with a response as he massaged his jaw. "Hardly matters. I wouldn't want your sloppy seconds anyhow—the whore."

That was all he needed. Batista lurched across the bench, tackling Orton around the waist. He flailed on the younger man, caring less where his fists were landing on him. "That's for Olivia, too," he shouted, hearing his knuckles crack on Randy's cheek. He drew back again but several hands grabbed him and pulled him off.

When the red finally cleared from Dave's eyes, Vince McMahon stalked into the lockerroom. "Everybody out!" he shouted. "Everybody but you and you." The chairman pointed at Orton and Batista. All the other wrestlers shuffled past while McMahon glared at the two men. When they were alone, the chairman began. "I know exactly what this is about. I heard all about it through the grapevine. What you do on your time, Dave, is none of my business. I don't judge that. However, when it spills over into the arena, I don't have a choice but to get involved. Randy, you know you're on probation. One more suspension this year and you're done with this company. Dave, I will fire Orianne Anderson if you do anything else."

"That's not fair," Orton began but McMahon pointed a finger at him.

"Do not argue with me," the older man replied and stalked back out. Shortly thereafter, the guys filed back into the locker room.

"Dave," Edge quietly said, "let's go get you some ice for your jaw." Batista took the hint and left the room with the blonde. "It's all over the place," he said as they walked down the corridors. "You might want to know that he's here."

"Her husband?"

"Yeah."

"Great. I'm gonna be audited by the IRS and charged millions in backtaxes. He'll probably get the CIA to assassinate me. The next thing I know there'll be stealth bombers flying over my house," Dave sarcastically ranted.

"It's gotta be better than spending the rest of your life in Guantanomo Bay," Edge replied with a smirk, trying to lighten Dave up.

"You think you're really funny, don't you?"

"You're the one going on about the FBI assassinating you."

"I forgot about the FBI," Batista muttered.

"Stop being stupid and let's get you to the trainers."

Dave left the medics with an icepack for his jaw and another one for his eye. The flesh was starting to swell but the punches shouldn't leave much of a bruise. If it did, Kane's and Triple H's attacks would only look more authentic. For that reason, he almost decided not to keep the ice on his face.

Edge was trying to keep him out of the locker room until he and Orton cooled off. The other guys talking about them wouldn't help his attitude right now either. The blonde was also keeping him on the side of the arena that Sloan Anderson was not. Rumor had it that he was there to keep an eye on his wife. When it came too close to curtain call to loiter in the corridors, Edge and Dave retuned to the locker room, only to be met by an irate Shawn Michaels.

The son of an Air Force colonel, Shawn Michaels knew what it was like to live in a military home. He also knew what it was like to have his family ripped apart by an affair. His parents weren't divorced for nothing. As soon as he heard the rumors about Orianne and Dave, he immediately tracked the photographer down, not believing a word he heard. Finding the woman in an open private dressing room, he didn't know how to approach her. She was curled in a tight ball on one end of the couch, her cheeks pink, brow furrowed, and her shoulders so tight they were practically up around her ears. "Orianne, I heard…" Shawn trailed off when she turned her face from him, crimson embarrassment creeping into her visage. It was then that he noticed another man in the room and he immediately remembered Sloan Anderson from their holiday tour overseas. Sloan crossed the room from where he had been sitting in a fold-up chair and gently took Michaels by the arm, steering him out of the door to explain everything.

Shawn had considered Orianne and Dave related, just as they had said. Why should anyone have been concerned about the two of them being close? He just couldn't believe that the woman he had played poker with two or three nights out of the week was an adulteress. Yet, knowing what had happened with his own family, he shouldn't have been surprised. That didn't stop Orianne from being culpable. Of course, he didn't hate her—he hated the situation. He was disappointed in her, very disappointed, but his anger was directed at Dave Batista. He took advantage of her and made a mockery of Orianne, her marriage, and the military. He had a few choice words for that man and then he would be able to let this go, pushing the hurtful memory of his own experience away, and maybe offer some sort of support to the Andersons to stop the break-up of their marriage and family.

"I don't judge people but I have to get this off my chest," Michaels said, obviously agitated. "Cheating on a soldier is like cheating on America."

"I've already had words with the last person who talked bad about Orianne. I'm not afraid of you either," Batista growled.

"I've said my piece," Shawn replied, holding his hands. "She's back with Captain Anderson and you might want to stay away from her."

When Michaels was out of sight, Dave turned to Edge. "Is that what people are saying? Cheating on a solider is like cheating on America?"

"Afraid so," Edge shrugged, "it'll pass."

"I don't care what they're saying about me. I only care about her."

"I speak from experience. I know I don't have to remind you about the Matt Hardy fiasco," Edge replied, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, god, you don't think McMahon will take this to the ring, do you?"

"Probably not. It's not hit the Internet yet, which means you're safe." Dave's eyes widened at the thought and Edge added, "Carlito's monitoring the boards for ya. It's been a week and one site mentioned it but that's all."

"This is all my fault. She was so vulnerable and I took advantage of that."

"Takes two to tango."

"Did you know we had broken it off before he came back?" Dave asked, working his jaw in frustration. "Several of us, including Orianne, play poker together and I didn't want there to be any suspicions, so I didn't quit. I stayed after everybody in her room and I shouldn't have. I feel so guilty."

"Lita had lunch with her today. Do you want to know about it?" the blonde wrestler offered.

"Give it to me."

"She feels like it's all her fault," Edge explained.

"No."

"She's really taking this well, the gossip and all. She says that's all it is—just words."

"Did she say anything about her and Sloan?"

"Just that they're trying to make it work," Edge answered and Dave hung his head. "We need to start getting ready for the show. C'mon."

* * *

Orianne stared at Vince McMahon's personal assistant like she had grown a second head. "Ma'am, he would like to see you _now_, please."

"Uh, yes," the photographer replied and turned back to the bench where her camera equipment was laid out as she was preparing for RAW. She began replacing the film and breaking down the cameras to carefully return them to their cases. The woman didn't care if the Pope was requesting an audience, her cameras would be properly stored and locked up. "Alright, let's go."

The P.A., whose name she didn't know—only her face, led the way and Orianne began to chew her lip in concern. Vince McMahon wanted to see her and had given his assistant absolutely no idea as to why. The photographer was almost positive that she knew the reason. This was the second week that she had to endure the stares and the whispers.

Affairs and broken marriages were a way of life in the WWE. However, that didn't stop the juicy gossip from being passed around. There were those who were jealous and then there were those who thought themselves "holier than thou" and both had no trouble treating the "cheaters" like pariahs. Par for course, the women of the affairs were considered looser and more at fault than the men. Everyone knew about her and Dave before the houseshow even began the Friday after the affair became open knowledge.

Cara Whitfield had accosted her in an abandoned hallway, saying nothing but hugging Orianne to her. She was absolutely blown away by the news and, for a second, secretly congratulated the photographer for catching the hottest man in wrestling. The technician immediately scolded herself for applauding the woman for 'having relations' with her own kin, even if it was only by marriage, but, knowing that the two had cheated, she realized that she saw something in Orianne change the moment she met Batista. No doubt the day she accused the dark-haired woman as being pregnant, she had slept with the wrestler, and her agitation on the overseas trip wasn't about the trip itself but about seeing her husband even though she was sleeping with Batista. Cara cared too much for the girl to blame or condemn her; she didn't know what was behind the affair and she wasn't going to guess. Whatever Orianne's choice, short of murder or suicide, she was going to support her.

"You gonna be okay?" the blonde asked.

"I'm thick-skinned. I've been through a lot and I'll make it through this."

"I saw Sloan here. I take it the both of you are staying together." Orianne nodded in response. "It's not my place to judge. So, I want you to know that I'm here for you. You can talk to me about anything."

Cara wasn't the first either. Orianne didn't have the heart to argue with Lita about having lunch with the redhead Monday. While she would have rather not—because she knew exactly what it was about—she wanted out of the hotel room and away from the arena. At first, the wrestler was simply being a friend but they had never spent time alone together before. Finally, the prodding and advice came. The photographer had spoken to no one about the issue and the stares and whispers had grown too much for her and she spilled everything on her mind. Lita had already been through this and it was much worse for her. She was a prominent diva, dating a superstar, and cheated with another superstar, who was married. She was still being treated like an outcast but she had put it all behind her and it was something that Orianne was going to have to do as well.

Then, that evening, the news broke out about Dave Batista and Randy Orton fighting. Orianne's name was quickly attached. Fuel was added to the fire and the mortified photographer wanted to disappear. It hardly helped that Batista would not be taking time off after all. However, it was her punishment and she would take it like a woman.

Now standing in McMahon's office, Orianne Thomas-Anderson knew exactly why she was here and it involved her affair with Dave Batista. "Have a seat, Mrs. Anderson," he said, indicating the chair on the other side of the desk.

As Orianne did as he indicated, she wondered if he had accented the "Mrs." to make a dig at her or if it was all in her imagination. They had spoken on only one occasion—to discuss the visit to Sloan's base. The night she was a stand-in diva he didn't say a word to her as the company photographer. "Yes, sir?"

"What you do in private is none of my business as long as it doesn't get you arrested. When it spills over into the company and interferes with business, it becomes _my _business. I think it might be best if you took a month off." Orianne instinctively opened her mouth to protest. "You can tell everyone it's because you have been putting in extra hours, which is not a lie. I won't send Dave Batista and Randy Orton home and they need some time to cool off, so you're the only other option." The photographer had no arguments. Plus, she was terrified of losing her job completely if she did vocally object.

"Yes, sir," she replied quietly with downcast eyes. "Would you like me to leave now or finish tonight?"

"Since you're already here, stay." Orianne rose from her seat and filed out of the room, McMahon not speaking another word to her. Sloan was probably in hospitality right now and she needed to tell him.

TBC…


	24. A Confession in the Rain

**_Chapter XXIV: A Confession in the Rain_**

Batista didn't find out if he was welcome back into the poker group or not. Ric Flair made out that he was but he couldn't go. Ric was being good to him, making an effort to act as if nothing happened. He simply mentioned that the affair was over, Dave knew it was wrong, and they had to move on. Flair didn't feel it was his business what happened between Orianne and Dave. He was surprised at first but he could easily see how it had happened. She was a pretty young woman who needed companionship and he was the lonely but handsome man who paid her the attention she deserved. But that didn't make it right. The two of them knew that it was over and everybody needed to move on, especially Dave. That was one of the main reasons Ric encouraged him to come back.

Before their poker nights, Dave was never really friends with the rest of the guys anyhow and it didn't seem right to stay. Instead, he hung out with Carlito, Edge, and Lita, just as he had done before Gabrielle broke up with him. His friendship with Randy Orton was probably destroyed forever. When women tried to buy him drinks or ask him to dance, he politely declined. On occasion he would sit and chat with one but he had already perfected the art of letting them down. Mainly, he just enjoyed people watching. So much drama in such a small space could be entertaining. He attended the next inter-brand social and watched the doors for Orianne until he realized how stupid he was being—if she showed up, Sloan would undoubtedly be by her side based on the gossip about how he wasn't letting her out of his sight when she was on the road.

The Batista family never knew what happened. He didn't bring Orianne up again and neither did they. His mother and sister assumed that he had heeded their advice. He spent more time with them, particularly making an effort to take his niece and nephews out more. Dana and Hea wondered if there was something more going on in his life because he seemed so tired and sad. They tried to drag it out of him but he blamed it on not getting his vacation when he needed it. He had absolutely no intention of sullying Orianne's name or making himself look bad by telling them the truth. He definitely did not want to hear, 'I told you so.'

The rest of his time Dave spent planning his gym. Since he hadn't been able to take the time off to work on it and he wasn't sleeping anyhow, he did it in increments, sketching designs, calling the appropriate people for the lease and the equipment, and planning advertisements. If it wasn't for the hollow feeling in his chest and the insomnia, he could get used to this life. It suited him well, he thought, trying to numb himself to thoughts of Orianne. Within a couple of months, no one else had said a direct word to him about the affair and the stares and murmurs had dissipated.

He hadn't seen Orianne again outside of the arena or backstage. She disappeared for a month; some of the gossip said she was fired for the affair or quit and some said she was suspended. Dave was putting himself through a massive guilt trip over the possibilities. Her career in the WWE was over because of him. If he had just had some self discipline, this would never have happened. When he could stand it no longer, he called Jennifer McNay in human resources. Even though she couldn't release employment information, he begged her to tell him what happened to Orianne. He had his speech ready about his culpability in the situation but Jennifer asked why he would be so concerned when she had been granted an early vacation for her extra work with the diva shoots and the FanFoto program.

When Orianne returned, so did Sloan. Edge would warn Dave when her husband was backstage and the wrestler stayed away. While he was in the ring, he concentrated on his match. Out of the corner of his eye he would notice her but she seemed to just be doing her job. He made the mistake of asking Cara Whitfield how she was doing about a month after her return from vacation. "She's putting on a good front but I worry about her," the blonde had said. When he asked what she meant, she replied, "I just think she's miserable underneath it all but she won't talk to me about it. I've felt so bad about it I haven't even told her that Cedarius and I got engaged last week." Cara had a flair for dramatics and could be taking it all out of context. Eventually life would go on for the both of them, he decided and tried to make himself believe in that statement despite his lonely misery and this huge gaping hole in his life.

* * *

Two and a half months had passed since Sloan had caught Orianne and Dave together. Her husband agreed to reside in Stamford and allow her to continue to work with the WWE if she proved he could trust her. Accompanying trips were the start of that after her "vacation." They were also in couple's therapy. While she felt he had driven her to the affair, all of the blame was placed on her and she made the mistake of caving and agreeing. They would have to work on her before she could convince them to get around to her issues with Sloan. 

Orianne wanted to make her marriage work because Sloan gave up his career for her. She should have been whooping for joy but he was acting like a martyr. It mattered little that he had agreed to do that right after they were engaged. He hadn't physically touched her yet. At this point, she couldn't have handled his touch. They slept in the same bed together but that was the extent of their intimacy. After an entire of night of yelling at each other when she caught back up with him when he discovered the truth, Orianne was tired of fighting and she nodded her head and did everything the couple's counselor said. But it suddenly came to a head.

"I think we should move back to Alabama," Sloan stated out of nowhere.

"I can work that. I have the dark room in the house. I'll just process everything there," she replied, wondering how she would handle her mother's new condescending tone every time they spoke.

Telling her family was quite possibly one of the hardest things she had ever done. She had put it off until Sloan threatened to tell them himself. They would see it written all over them the first time they visited, so she might as well admit it upfront. Her second week off from WWE, she and Sloan returned home. She felt even worse seeing their 'welcome home' banner in the front yard. Given Orianne's status in the small town, Sloan was immediately adopted as one of their own and he was somewhat of a hometown hero to Prescott as he was their only active soldier. They didn't have to know anything but her family did. She had never seen such disappointment in their eyes, not even when she announced that she was going into photography rather than family business.

Her mother didn't speak to her at all that week and now she only spoke to her when she had to. Her father only expressed his disappointment that she did not come to him like he had asked but supported her and Sloan's decision to make the marriage work. It was his looks of pity that she couldn't stand. Orrin treated her like nothing had happened but she could see it in his eyes—hurting Sloan was like hurting the brother Orrin never had. Olivia was the only one who seemed to accept her. Her little sister was having a hard time of dealing with her break-up with Randy but she was slowly getting better day by day and would be over him and the embarrassment in no time. She had grown closer to Orianne, needing her older sister's wisdom and company. But she had needed her as well, finding Olivia the only one she could confide in.

"I called around," Sloan stated, coming to stand before Orianne where she was seated on the couch arranging photos to be turned in for possible magazine covers. "The University of Alabama would like for you to teach classes for them this summer. If they like you, they'll hire you for the fall. You'd see Olivia all the time."

"But I would have to quit the WWE. Jennifer just told me that they want me to do all the diva shoots. The girls actually requested _me_."

"Yes, I know, but it's for the better. _He_'s always there and I can't travel with you every single weekend. I have to get a job."

"What about Dr. Warren going on about trust and you agreeing to let me stay?"

"I don't trust _him_," he pointedly stated, indicating Batista. Orianne couldn't hide the scoff that rose up in her. "One move and you could be back where we started."

"So I'm not strong enough to handle seeing him?"

"That's not what I said," Sloan replied, folding his arms across his chest. "You're going to quit working for the WWE and that's final. You have to get away from there so you can move on."

"I will not be told what to do," she seethed, jumping up from where she sat.

"I found us a place near the campus and the movers are coming in three days," he replied, ignoring her statement.

"Three days?" she practically shouted.

"I have some boxes in the car. I thought you might want to pack up your personal items instead of letting them do it."

"My person—" She suddenly stopped. "I can't do this right now."

"Orianne, what are you doing?"

"I have to get out," she ground out, slinging her purse across her shoulders and grabbing her keys.

"Where?"

"Don't worry. It's not to him," she shouted, slamming the door behind her. The woman drove around town for a couple of hours and then stopped for lunch when her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten breakfast.

Browsing through the stores of a strip mall, Orianne finally found herself calm enough to return home. She had thought over what Sloan had said. This wasn't giving in to him but simply taking what he had said in stride. She had liked teaching before, so that would do fine. Plus, he was right that she would never move on when she saw Dave Batista day in and day out and processed the many pictures of his matches. Still she held a place in her heart for him, a place that ached deeply, and it was never going to go away. Every so often, she could still hear his deep voice telling her that he loved her and asking her to stay. Right now, she was so frustrated and tired that she wanted nothing more to leave Sloan and show up on Dave's doorstep. But, no, she was bound to her marriage and, if Dave was forever out of her sight, maybe she could just numb that place over and become deaf to the echoes of his voice. Plus, it would be nice to be away from the glares she still received from certain people. They all still thought that she had cheated on Sloan with his own family member, an even greater sin, and, once her husband found out that part of the lie as well, neither bothered to correct anyone—it was too much trouble. Apparently Dave hadn't bothered either. How she and Dave had ever managed to pull that story off was beyond her. Orianne and Sloan had only admitted the truth to Shawn Michaels and he had agreed that they should not bother with it as it would only make the situation worse.

The gossip had hurt to begin with and she did her best to figuratively hide behind her camera. She knew that Cara was picking up on how miserable she was at work. However, no one had had anything to say to her with Sloan around but the whispering and stares told her otherwise. Not to mention that she felt like Shawn Michaels was treating her differently. He was offering Sloan much support but suddenly he was asking the two of them out to dinner with his family and inviting them to his ranch outside of San Antonio and to a marriage workshop that his church was organizing. Privately, Shawn only encouraged her to stay away from Batista and to set things right with Sloan. Maybe it was all in her mind but she felt like the wrestler was now looking at her with cold eyes.

What irked Orianne the most about Sloan going behind her back and making plans was being told what to do. If Sloan had simply said that he thought it might be good if they moved back to Alabama, wanted her opinion, and offered to make calls for her, things might have gone smoother. However, if she wanted to keep her marriage together, she would have to make this move.

Orianne was so tense from the stress, she had to grip the railing and take the steps slowly. The ache in her leg weighed her down but her spirit drew her down even further. She opened the door to the apartment to find several moving boxes in the living room that were already packed. In the bedroom, she found Sloan with her small cedar chest, which safeguarded her keepsakes and was kept in her lingerie drawer…and was always locked. The contents were spread across the bed. Her high school and college class rings were there, her sorority pin, both of her tassels from graduation, a couple of pictures of her and her best friends from high school and college, a picture of her astride Aramis for the first time since the accident. What was not on the bed was what Sloan held in his hands—the ruby necklace from Dave and three pictures of her and Dave, two of them in which they were embracing and grinning like fools and one where he had stolen her camera and snapped an awkward picture while they were kissing. She closed her eyes, leaned back against the wall, and sank to the floor. She shouldn't have kept them but she couldn't get rid of them either.

"Do you love him?" Sloan asked, staring at the pictures.

"Yes," she whispered, admitting it out loud for the first time.

"Then I'll never be able to trust you," he defeatedly replied.

"That doesn't mean that I don't love you," she quickly added. "Give me credit for being honest. I could have lied."

"I don't know if I can trust you again," he stated, dropping the pictures on the bed. Orianne rose to her feet as Sloan pulled his military issue duffel bag out from underneath the bed and began stuffing clothing inside.

"What are you doing?"

"I can't stay here tonight. We might want to think about a trial separation," he replied, opening another drawer of the dresser and shoving apparel in the bag.

"A trial separation?" Orianne angrily asked. "What the hell do you think our entire marriage has been? A practice separation _for_ the trial separation?" When he didn't respond, she grabbed him by the arm and jerked him around to face her. "Let me tell you something. We have spent half of our marriage separated and not by my choice. Oh, you think you're so chivalrous by deciding now, seven years later, that you chose me over your career. I waited on you all that time, terrified that you'd never return home, that I'd be going to _your _funeral. I packed up every time we moved, put _my _dreams on hold, and faithfully followed you around this damn country. I followed _you_, doing everything within in my power to be the dutiful wife because I loved you."

"Faithful? Dutiful? Don't act so innocent—" he began but she cut him off, poking a finger in his chest.

"Listen here, Buster," Orianne started again, slowly backing him across the bedroom floor with each word. "I know I'm not innocent and I don't pretend to be, unlike you. I know I contributed to the failure of this damn marriage before I ever met Dave Batista. I pretended like we had the perfect marriage even though all the while it was falling apart. I didn't stand up for it and I didn't stand up for myself. Guess what, Sloan?" He turned the corner at the bed, still walking backward as she angrily but evenly lectured. He was so baffled at the woman before him, her eyes blazing with rage. The man didn't know what to do with her and could only retreat as she advanced, never having heard her curse before.

"I'm standing up for myself now. I admitted my guilt and I have bent over backward since you returned, doing every damn thing that you and that counselor asked of me. I came back here to tell you that I was willing to move back to Alabama and quit working for the WWE. After all that, do I think I'm innocent? Hell, no. But let me tell you something about innocence. You aren't the innocent you make yourself out to be," Orianne sternly stated as her husband's back hit the door of the closet. He had to listen to her as he had nowhere else to hide. "You cheated on me as well. I think those vows about remaining faithful didn't say whether or not that involved a warm body. You cheated on me with your career long before I cheated on you." He opened his mouth for a retort but she knew what was coming and put her finger in his face. "Don't you dare give me that bullshit about protecting me and our family. When did you decide for me that we were going to have children anyhow? I guess when you decided everything else for me like I was a little child. You are just as responsible for the failure of our marriage as I am." She finally stepped back and took a deep breath before continuing. "It's over and I want you to get out of _my _apartment."

Sloan blinked at her for a moment and Orianne let him absorb all she had said. He finally responded, "If I walk out that door, then I'm gone forever."

If he wasn't going to fight for her or their marriage now, then she could play this game. His wife raised one eyebrow and pursed her lips as if to say, 'oh, really?' She turned on her heel, walked over to his half full duffel back, and began stuffing in the rest of his clothing from the last drawer that held his things. She jerked his shoes out from under the bed and stuffed in the several pairs. Sloan could only watch in amazement, blown away by what she was doing. He couldn't find the use of his limbs or his tongue.

Orianne stalked back over to the closet where he still stood and bellowed, "Move!" He stepped out of her way and she jerked the door open before scooping up his three suits and pushing them into his arms. She then pulled the rest of his clothing off the hangers and took them back to the bed, shoving them into the duffel bag as well. After a few moments of pushing and packing, she barely got the thing zipped up. "I mean it, Ori. If I walk out that door, I'm never coming back."

The black-haired woman turned a stoic face to him, her chin lifted, before she picked up the duffel bag, struggling to lift it onto her shoulder. Finally, she dropped it to the floor and dragged it through the living room and to the front door. The woman opened it and forcefully kicked the green bag out into the hall. She reached for his keys by the door and began unwinding his apartment key from the ring.

"Orianne, stop it," he said, over the suits in his arms. Her reply was to whip her car key off the chain and toss the rest of the keys, his wallet, and his cellphone onto the bag. "I am not joking—"

"Get out," she gritted through clenched teeth. Sloan jutted his chin forward and kept his eyes forward as he stalked out the open door. She slammed it behind him and let out a deep breath. The tirade had not been planned, not one word of it. The woman had no idea from where it came or from where she found the resolve but, when he said he couldn't trust her and there he was holding her keepsake box that he had managed to find the key to and lecturing her about trust, she finally snapped.

Orianne quickly locked the doorknob and then turned the deadbolt. Her hands were trembling so much she barely slid the chainlock into place. Her shaking then began to move throughout her body and nausea gripped her stomach. She rushed for the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet before lunch ejected itself. She would not cry. Orianne Isabelle Thomas never shed a tear through her arduous and painful recovery. She never cried each time that Sloan was sent out on assignment. With the exception of a few tears, she did not cry over the incident with Randy Orton and when she and Dave parted ways. She was strong. She had broken down only a handful of times. She would not cry.

Her body was still quivering as she wet a washcloth and wiped her face and her mouth. She then filled up the glass beside the basin and had to use both hands to raise the water to her lips. As she began to set it down, her body shuddered and the glass fell to the sink and shattered across the basin and the floor. Everything that had just happened hit her full force and recognition dawned on her. The woman sank to the floor, collapsing on her side and staring at the broken shards littering the floor. This time she was not strong and the cool tiles caught her hot tears. She cried for her broken marriage, for the guilt of having destroyed that, for losing both her husband and Dave Batista, and for putting herself and Dave through all this grief when she could and should have stayed with him when he asked. Her marriage was over long before Sloan found the pictures of her and Dave and she knew that and the woman grieved over her husband not fighting one bit for that marriage. She cried until there were no more tears, until her eyes were almost swollen shut, and her nose was stopped up. Finally, she picked her tired body up and stumbled into the bedroom. She couldn't go to her family because they would never understand; only Olivia would but her little sister was in school this very moment. She was taking her last exam of her junior year tomorrow morning. No, Orianne had only one place she could go and needed to go. If the door of his heart wasn't still open, she would accept the consequences of her stupidity.

* * *

Dave had spent a late night puttering about the property he had purchased last week for his gym. He had contractors coming in the morning and he wanted to make sure everything was perfect. Plus, he couldn't help dreaming about how it would all look. He wished Orianne was here to see it. When he mentioned that he wanted to open a gym, she had whole-heartedly encouraged him, even though he had expressed doubt that he could pull it off successfully. Surveying the space again, he made a few more adjustments to the sketched lay-out of equipment, which was still a couple of weeks away from arriving. He made a note to call Randy Orton when he got home and make sure the younger wrestler had cleared his calendar to be present for the opening weekend, an incentive to bring in customers. 

His relationship with Randy was an interesting story. The tension in the lockerroom had gotten so bad that Edge and Carlito had locked the two of them in there alone after one RAW. Yelling at them through the door, Edge told them to straighten it out by talking or fighting but when they walked out, it had better be settled, period. Orton immediately backed off for fear of being suspended and subsequently fired. It was the opening Dave needed, admitting that he had really messed up. He told Orton everything, from beginning to end, as if he could find absolution in his confession. The younger wrestler's face remained impassive until Batista finally finished speaking and a silence had developed between them. "I'm sorry. That sucks, man," was all he said to begin with but then he corrected what Dave thought had happened between he and Olivia and Randy spilled his own confession. It didn't heal the rift between them but they walked out that door with a tentative friendship in place. As an olive branch, the new entrepreneur asked Orton if he would attend his grand opening and the younger man had agreed.

Calling it a night, Dave locked the door behind him, dashed through the rain to his Lexus, and carefully pulled out onto the road. It had been raining for hours now and he was grateful for the respite from the heat and humidity. Pulling into the driveway, the wrestler noticed something was moving on his stoop. He couldn't see exactly what it was as he slowed the car to a stop before the garage doors. The wrestler reached behind his seat for the baseball bat that he purposefully kept in his car for this reason. Getting out of the vehicle, he could now tell that it was a person as he—or she—uncurled himself where he sat on the top step leading to the front door. Keeping the bat to his side as he approached so as not to give the weapon away, he called, "What do you want?"

"Dave," the tiny voice replied.

"Orianne?" He dropped the bat on the lawn and dashed up the steps. She was soaked from head to toe, her mid-calf skirt clinging to her legs, the denim jacket drenched, and the leather sandals curling up. Her black hair was plastered to her head and her eyes and nose were slightly swollen and her cheeks red. "Are you okay?" he asked, wanting to rub the dark circles from her underneath her eyes, but he somehow held himself back from touching her at all.

She replied in a hoarse voice, "He left me." The woman then shook her head and, with a small laugh, added, "No, that's not true. I kicked him out."

He could only stand there, water dripping off him, and try to digest her words. Was she here for a sympathetic ear? Did she need a place to stay? Was he now her default choice? "Why are you _here_?"

"I left him because I made the biggest mistake of my life leaving _you_. Because I love you, Dave. I admitted it, we had a fight, and I told him to get out…permanently. I'm here because I should never have left you in the first place." When she had sobbed all the grief from her body earlier, a rush of relief came over. For the entire plane ride and the time she had sat on his stoop, she had only felt peace. She had done everything she thought she was supposed to do to make her marriage work and she would always love Sloan but not in the way she loved Dave Batista. Trying to make it work was an injustice to herself and Sloan. She should have initiated a divorce immediately after his return. "We shouldn't have done what we did and we both know it. There are no excuses for us. But it happened and my mistake wasn't in having a relationship with you—my mistake was not loving you when I should have."

"Oh, Ori," he sighed and pulled her to him. It hardly mattered that she was soaking wet; he was now as well. Dave remembered the longing in her eyes and the look that passed over her face when he offered himself to her. Her words now proved to him what he knew she was thinking and feeling then. Her confession was enough to convince him that he was her first choice in her heart. In that one moment, neither could care about the difficulties that lay ahead for them; they would deal with those as they came. The two were together and that's all that mattered.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and tried to bite back the tears, savoring the feel of his body against hers. It was as if it was a dream that she was finally here and he was holding her. "I knew I was wrong when I walked out that hotel door but I made a vow. I thought I had to…" she trailed off. "I was so wrong." He shushed her by covering her mouth with his, and every moment, every feeling they had shared came rushing back.

What began in the rain ended in the rain. "You're home now. Let's go inside."

FINI!!

**

* * *

Author's Notes:** We have sadly come to the end of this story. I regret to say that I do not have a sequel planned or in the works, although it is a possibility. 

I want to thank my awesome first reader who I bounced ideas off of and who has read several drafts of different parts of this story: **WandaXmaximoff **(ID: 747588). A wonderful person and writer.

Last but certainly not least, I'd like to thank all of my reviewers: MutantXHottie, Poetic Hellfire, WandaXmaximoff, MissPhilippinesSuperStar, MiChElLe05, losingmymind2, IMissPadfoot, punkydiva17, Lil'MissCena, OTHlover04, LeelooJinn, our-goodbye, andyeascrewyou, Cinna, Queen of Kaos, cenasgrl, agonyzpuppy, shannygoat, ASPIRING ACTRESS, X.x.XJodzterX.x.X, Tanya50801, Mistress of the Night, NikMick, and Mrs.Jeff.Hardy. (If I left anybody off, let me know—I'm very sorry if I did) You guys are the bestest ever in the whole wide world! ;)

For those of you who are fans of my character Samia Carlsen and "Where Loyalty Lies" and "Loyalty of Friendship", I have posted an extended epilogue to the last chapter of "Loyalty of Friendship" detailing my plans for a sequel. I'm taking suggestions! Be on the look-out for the third part in my Loyalty series titled "Loyalty Comes First" in the upcoming months (Batista will be in it!).

For those of you who are fans of "Blessed, Not Unlucky," Cheryl and Dave are in WandaXmaximoff's "A Fine Line Between Love and Hate" and then in her upcoming sequel "When Love and Hate Collide." There is also now an epilogue to "Blessed" that you might enjoy.

Thanks again, everyone! Lots of love!

Gin


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